The Andals
by Wildfurion
Summary: When the elderly Jon Arryn mysteriously dies at the capital, the court at the Eyre is tossed into turmoil. Locked between a vengeful mother and ambitious vassals, the new Lord of the Vale- Artys Arryn- struggles to keep the harmony at his domain. Troubled times are coming, and the oldest of Andal houses must be ready for it- else the falcon might risk to be swallowed by the storm.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_Vale of Arryn, 298 AC._

_A lonely arrow cuts through the chilling mountain air with a sharp screech, sent by long, slim fingers towards the back of a distracted fat hare. In the blink of an eye, the escaping animal falls into the tall grass with a barely audible thud, with the projectile burying deep into its furry body._

_A round of applauses soon follows, accompanied by whistles and the barking of the hunting dogs. "Wonderful! A great shot, Lord Artys!" the knights and courtiers of the Eyre compliment, to which the young man replies with a simple nod. _

_Stealing a brief glance at the relatively isolated mountain that is the Giant's Lance, the heir to House Arryn and acting Lord of the Vale, Artys Arryn, soon returns his gaze back to the hunting game. His black Dragonbone longbow- which stands almost as tall as himself- rests to his side, as he silently watches the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, Nestor Royce, take another animal down. The game is very simple: the one to get the most hares, which were often brought to that particular field by the household servants of the castle, wins._

_Thus the reason why that grassy elevation was known as the Rabbit Hill._

'_My turn again.' the boy known as the Red Falcon thinks with an inner sigh. He feels the eyes of Nestor's buxom daughter on his back as he takes aim at another prey, pulling the bow's steel rope till the limit. Recently widowed Myranda Royce isn't the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, with her brown eyes, short height, small mouth and curly brown hair. But she is fleshy and a good bedmate- some even say her former husband died having sex with her. 'And her father wants her to be Lady Arryn.'_

_Gracious, tall and slender, the eldest son and heir of old Lord Jon is said to be even more handsome than his father was in youth. Leaning more to his mother's side of the family, Artys has long, silky auburn hair that flows down over his shoulders in suave ringlets and eyes of an intense, sky blue. Born more than two months premature, however, his build is somewhat frail and his skin, as pale as the fresh mountain snow- which adds a nice contrast to his red lips, however. _

_Although he possesses little muscle due to his condition, his broad shoulders and intense training allow him to wield a weapon as powerful as a Westerosi Longbow with relative ease. In other words, he can shoot a decent amount of arrows before needing to rest._

_The game continues during most of the morning, until it is time for the Young Lord to return to his home at the Eyre- leaving lord Nestor and his widowed daughter at the Gates of the Moon. _

_While he'd known the treacherous way up the mountain since he was a sickly little boy and was quite familiar with it, Artys still accepted the aid of the cheerful and pretty Mya Stone- appreciating the black-haired girl's company as he rode through the three castles that guard the way to the seat of House Arryn._

"_Good work as always, Mya." The quiet auburn haired heir says with a discreet smile. Though the ride was unusually smooth, he'd still want to bathe after the few hours riding a mule. Their smell was far from pleasant. "Care to join me for dinner tonight?"_

"_Thank you, m'lord. But I still have to-" _

"_Don't worry, you can stay the night here." Artys cuts her short, earning a grin from the young woman. Mya had known him for more than a decade already, she can easily understand the meaning of his ever courteous words and knows what he wants. "You can have the room at the Maiden's Tower."_

"_As you wish, m'lord~" Mya teasingly replies with a giggle, as some servants stop to observe the exchange with barely hidden interest. Being about as tall as him, the girl leans closer to whisper at his ear. "I'll be looking forward to tonight then."_

_The sway of her hips entices him as she leaves- his gaze fixed at her back until she disappears in a corner. After Mya's gone, Artys turns his eyes to the statues at the not-so-green gardens of his father's castle. 'Maybe I should order some more of those from Volantis…'_

_While House Arryn is one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms, their castle at the Eyre is- by far- the smallest among the Great Houses. Deemed by the Valemen as the most beautiful castle in the world, the seat of the oldest Andal line consists of a cluster of seven slim white towers- made of a rare type of stone- surrounding a garden which would have been a godswood, if not for its rocky soil. _

_Due to its location many thousands of feet up the Giant's Lance, the Eyre is considered impregnable- though dragons __**did **__fly up to the castle more than once. With a garrison of about 500 men, the barracks and stables were carved by King Roland Arryn directly into the mountain, while the huge granary and the beautiful and richly decorated Sept stand closer to the waterfall known as Alyssa's Tears._

_To give one an idea about the Eyre's might, an invading army from the Riverlands- for instance- would have to assault the Bloody Gate, located at the narrowest part of the High Road, before marching onto the heavily fortified Gates of the Moon. Then, came in the tree castles garrisoning the way up the mountain: Stone, Snow and Sky. _

'_Reason why no army managed to conquer the Vale in six thousand years.' The young Arryn thought with a sigh. As the acting Lord while his father was away at the capital, serving the King as his Hand, the weight of managing all of those lands fell upon his slim shoulders like the very mountain his family lived on. "On to the work then…"_

_The way to the High Hall was swift, and the Red Falcon makes the House's throne his seat- ignoring the glances and whispers of the petitioners and courtiers present. The Sky throne, as it is called, is a queer chair carved out of pale weirwood. While it wasn't the most comfortable of seats, it was imposing and regal._

"_My Lord." Starts the serious captain of the Eyre's household guards, Ser Vardis Ergen- a heavily built old man with a square face and intimidating eyes. "May I call the first petitioner?"_

_Jon Arryn's eldest remains silent, observing the present people- recognizing the tall figure of elderly Bronze Yohn, and his daughter Ysilla; handsome and hot-tempered Lyn Corbray, wielder of the Valyrian sword, Lady Forlorn; ser Gilwood Hunter, heir to Longbow Hall and other minor Valemen knights and commoners. Ten of the Winged Knights- dressed in shiny silver plate armor, and with long blue cloaks depicting the soaring, white gyrfalcon of Arryn- stood in between the numerous petitioners and the young heir._

"_Very well, Ser Corbray, step forwa-"_

"_Lord Artys!" All of a sudden, the skinny Maester Colemon- healer and tutor of the Arryns and their children- rushes into the High Hall, tightly gripping a letter in his hand. "I bring urgent news from the capital!" The man halts in front of the knights, panting- he must have run all the way from the rookery. "A raven was sent by the Red Keep! Dark wings, even darker words…"_

"_And what is it, Colemon?" Though his tone is calm, Artys couldn't help but feel a pang of fear in his chest. What could possibly be so bad, as to make his family's Maester look so desperate? Surely it couldn't be… "Surely it's not something that terrible…"_

"_It's your father, sir…" the Maester turns pale like milk, and so does Artys. His eyes are now fixed at the man who's served the family for years, slim fingers digging deep into the pale weirwood of his throne._

"_What about him?" The auburn-haired heir inquired with a voice as cold and cutting as the winds of winter. The entire room tensed up. Artys' father, Lord Jon, had left for the capital many years before, to serve as Hand of the King to his friend and former ward, Robert Baratheon. "What about my father?!"_

"_Lord Jon…he fell ill from the stomach…and he…"_

"_And he?" No. This couldn't be happening. His father was robust and healthy like a bull, despite the old age. A small thing like that could never possibly take that man down…_

"_Lord Arryn… he's dead, my Lord!"_


	2. The Andals I: Fall of a Titan

**The Andals I**

**A/N: Hey there, Wildfurion here.**

**So…just found the archives and sketches for this story in my Gmail's archives, and decided to give it a shot. As this is based on my old style of writing, the chapters will be very short- about 7 pages each- but richly detailed, and the story will progress slowly.**

**I must confess I've always had something for House Arryn. IDK…they're just like, awesome, powerful and rich, but they talk too much and never actually get involved in Westerosi politics- at least in the books. Besides, I like their description as the 'oldest and purest Andal line', to me that's just badass.**

**That's what I have to say…I guess. I'll try to publish at least one chapter every Saturday, as I have most of the plot ready in my mind. Without further to say, let's go for the reading.**

**Wildfurion**

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"_As High as Honor."- House Arryn's words._

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, nor do I own any of the series/anime/movies/comics/games/books cited. I merely own my character, and this fanfic._

_The Andals I_

_**-{Artys}-**_

_The Eyre, Vale of Arryn, 298 AC_

The Septon's pious words fall in deaf ears, as a single tear makes a slow, painful descent down the new Lord Arryn's face. Artys Arryn stands silently by his father's rottening corpse, blue eyes now red- from crying at night, when no one could see his weakness- looking at the elderly man as if his gaze alone could bring him back. In a dream world, perhaps this could happen- but the young man needed to be a realist, even in harsh moments such as this.

It was the passing of a titan. Born in the year 218 AC, the legendary and honorable Old Falcon of Arryn had seen the reigns of no less than five Kings of the Iron Throne, and aided in the ascension and rule of a sixth- to whom he was practically a father. The wise man that used to be the second most powerful in all the Seven Kingdoms now lies dead in front of his small family. As his successor, Artys wasn't sure if he could live up to his father's legacy- but he'd at least try.

His sickly little brother, the six namedays old Robin, fills in the silent Sept with his loud cries, while his mother stands mostly silent by his side. The queer scent of incense, putrid flesh and perfumed oils hovers above their heads like an unwelcome cloud.

"Come now, Sweetrobin~" He hears his mother say in a soothing tone, pulling her youngest in a warm hug- finally managing to calm the little brown-haired boy down. Robert's cries seemed to make the whole situation even worse, so Artys discreetly turns his head to her and gives her a mute thank you.

Though many might not believe it, the new Lord's mother, Lysa Arryn (née Tully) used to be an adorable, pretty woman in her youth. When Artys was about Robin's age, he remembered his mother to be slender, delicate and kind- shy and giggling.

Now, though, Hoster Tully's youngest daughter has turned into a matron- after two pregnancies and many miscarriages and stillbirths. Like Artys and Robin's, her face is pale, though puffy, and she uses products, paints and powders to hide wrinkles and other marks. She has the same auburn hair as the Red Falcon, though hers is much thicker and straight.

And it wasn't only her appearance that changed. Ever since his father insisted on him being educated at the Eyre- to learn how to be a Great Lord, despite his poor health- his mother had grown bitter, fearful, impulsive and…somewhat unstable. Her marriage to his father was purely political, and there was little love in between them- but when Lord Jon decided to send him away, then things began to truly turn south…

'Even here, she reeks of milk…' the Young Lord couldn't help but feel bothered by the scent- barely disguised by strong perfume. Having birthed not only one, but two sickly sons, the former Lady of the Eyre needed to feed both from her breast for longer than most mothers. Though even Artys knows Robin's getting too old for that. 'Robert needs to develop his talents, whatever they are, it's time to send him to Runestone as a ward…maybe even Winterfell or Riverrun to our uncles.'

The majority of the Vale's nobility stands behind them in four lines, heads lowered in respect for their deceased liege lord- who'd ruled the region for so long, many considered him an everlasting presence in their lives. The Arryns, the main branch at least, were dressed in expensive black Qartheen silk, full of jewels and brocade- at the insistence of their mother, Lysa, they wore their most impressive garbs. Bronze Yohn and his family were dressed similarly, though with much less gold, while the rest- including the Corbrays, Redforts, Shetts and Hunters- wore simpler robes, either satin or good cotton.

"From the clay he came, from the clay he returns. And so, Lord Arryn's soul rises up to join his ancestors at the skies." The Septon the turns to them, white robes twirling with the movement of his stout body. "By the Stranger's blessing, may he rest in peace."

"_May he rest in peace_" All present say in unison. The second funeral of Lord Jon is finally over, and no one stays to see his body taken by the Silent Sisters to the crypts underneath the building. No matter how proud, ruthless and cunning his vassals thought him to be, Artys couldn't bear to see that- not with his father. Not with the greatest and most honorable man he'd ever known.

Everyone had weaknesses, after all, and that includes the mighty Falcons. And even the famously tranquil Red Falcon is no exception to this rule.

* * *

Later that morning, it was almost as if things had gone back to normal. Sitting at a small table in fathe- **his** new Solar at the Moon Tower, the new Lord Arryn sipped the best Arbor Gold from a jeweled golden goblet while reading through many letters, documents and reports that accumulated during the week he'd spent in grief. The wine- mixed with a bit of milk of the poppy- helped him keep the apparent calm and grace he was known for in the Vale. It also prevented the tremors from happening again.

"And this, is a letter from Lord Gerold, of Gulltown." Maester Colemon adds up, placing two pieces of paper over the table. "He requests permission to add five more dromonds to the fleet."

"For the price of ten, I presume." Little had changed with his father's death. Governing the Vale was still exhausting, and often demanded dealing with ambitions nobles, greedy merchants and the barbarians from the Mountains of the Moon. The Graftons were one of those problems too, having even sided with the Mad King during the rebellion- and so were the Arryns of Gulltown, distant cousins who thought of themselves way too highly. "Send him 50 thousand Dragons for the new ships, nothing more."

Though the Vale was relatively isolated from the rest of the world by land, threats from the sea could still do harm to the falcons' domain. Therefore, the Arryn fleet- of about 150 warships- was tasked with keeping the waters safe from slavers, pirates and ironborn raiders- so that trade could flourish at the region's prosperous ports.

Besides that specific topic, many of the letters had relatively unimportant themes. His aunt Catelyn and her husband, Lord Stark, sent their condolences from Winterfell, so did his Tully relatives, with whom he had a closer contact. As expected from a House with the words _Family, Honor and Duty_, he presumed. Messages with the same topic were sent from Highgarden, Dragonstone, Storm's End, Oldtown, King's Landing, all of his new Bannermen and even places such as Casterly Rock and Sunspear. Lord Tywin's words in special were few, but the Old Lion already referred to him as Lord Arryn and wrote he looked forward to future dealings with the Eyre.

"Or maybe he just wants me to marry a Lannister girl and support their cause." Artys thinks out loud, earning a cocked brow from Colemon. Ignoring the Maester, he turns to another pile of letters- this time, as expected, containing marriage offers.

"My father is barely cold, and people are already thinking of my marriage." The new Lord of the Vale whispers with a sigh, knowing he can be a bit more relaxed around the Maester. "What do you suggest, Colemon? Should I burn them?"

"I think it not wise, m-my Lord." The slender advisor replies. "Some Houses might take it as an insult."

"Well, they insult me, talking of marriage not even a week after my father dies."

Despite that, though, he still reads each and every single one of them. The first is sealed with the red stallion of the Brackens, powerful vassals of his grandfather in the Riverlands. Lord Bracken offers any of his five maiden daughters in marriage, with quite the generous dowry. The Blackwoods, which rival the Brackens, did the same- even though lord Tytos' daughter is almost eleven years younger than Artys. Walder Frey, of the Twins, also sent a similar proposal- though there were too many names for him to even bother to read. The junior branch at Gulltown also sent some offers, but he thought it wise to just ignore them. There were many others, but he simply brushed them off as unimportant.

Artys was about to resume on his duties, when the figure of his mother walks into his room- not bothering about things such as courtesies. "Leave." She ordered Colemon with a glare. The nervous man looked at his new Lord, who merely nodded, before bowing to lady Lysa and rushing out of the solar with the speed of a scared cat. "I see you've already taken up on your father's duties."

"Mother..." He acknowledges with a nod. His expression had returned to the usual, graceful serenity he's known for. "I have no choice. Now that father's dead, I guess that's the least I can do."

"You should rest, my little falcon." The recently widowed Lysa says with a warm, loving smile- squeezing his hand in hers affectionately. "You are the Lord of the Eyre now, your people need you healthy and well-rested." She then lands her gaze upon the empty goblet, already knowing what the content was with but a glance. "Did you remember to take all your remedies?"

"All of them, including the poppy." Artys replied with a sigh. The young man's overprotective mother was a…difficult person, or at least she'd turned into one. Sometimes he wondered if his father made a mistake by sending him back to the Eyre, many years before. "I'm fine mother. I haven't had any tremors for three months already, and the cough seems to have receded last week. As far as I'm concerned, I'm as healthy as I can ever be."

"Still…" And it was then, that she noticed the letters scattered around the small table. More specifically, the one with the broken seal of House Lannister, a proud, roaring lion, on it "Why are you even reading the words of a Lannister?! They were the ones who murdered your father!"

"Mother…" When he rode out to Gulltown to meet her and Robert, his recently widowed mother shared with him her suspicions about her husband's death: according to her, the previous Lord Arryn was assassinated by none other than the ambitious- and very wealthy- Lannisters…in special, the Queen.

Though he felt strongly inclined to believe Lysa's words- knowing the Lannisters to be powerful and ruthless players at the royal court- the new Lord Paramount of the Vale must be very careful with his moves. King Robert was married to a Lannister woman, had a Lannister squire and one of his Kingsguards was a Lannister as well. Accusing them now could much probably cause a war. 'I'll have to investigate things for myself…'

According to the King's personal letter, Robert Baratheon would be making the long journey to the Northernmost of the Seven Kingdoms in a few weeks, to visit his old friend- Lord Eddard Stark, Artys' uncle. Perhaps he could leave the Vale in his mother's hand and join them…it'd be good to see his aunt Cat again, after many years.

"No excuses, Artys!" all the kindness from barely minutes earlier was now gone. Fear, anger and madness now took over the widowed Lady Arryn. "You are not associating with those golden haired demons! You hear it, Artys? I forbid you! I forbid you! You are my son, and should listen to your mother!"

"For the love of the Seven, mother!" this time it is Artys's time to snap, as he slams his bony hands onto the wooden surface with force. It hurts, but at least manages to startle his overprotective mother. "I don't intend to ally with the Lannisters, it's never been my plan. Nor did Lord Tywin suggest it in this letter. He simply gave me his condolences, that's all…Colemon!"

"Yes, my Lord." The Maester walks back in, giving a deep bow to both redheads. The youngest of Hoster Tully's daughters looks at him interrogatively, he pities her- but his mind is resolute.

"My mother's tired and in grief from the funeral, some essence of nightshade might help her sleep." At a snap of his fingers, two of his loyal household guards march into the room with spears at their hands.

"Wait!" his mother tries to reach for his hand, but Artys withdraws it before her fingers touch his. Her eyes turn from glaring into pleading, but he does not relent. "Artys, please! Artys!"

After his men escort the Arryn widow out to her own chambers, the auburn-haired Lord of the Vale leans back on his chair with a sigh. He hated to be harsh, even when it had to be done. 'I'll have to take care of mother, for now at least, the remedy should make her forget this conversation ever happened...' he then helps himself to another dose of warm, spiced wine- a good treat in the cold of the Eyre- before mixing some more of the thick, white liquid that is Milk of the Poppy into it. His hands tremble slightly, and his heartbeat becomes faster by the second. "Now then, on to yet another dose of my remedies."

Finally, he adds a teaspoon of a queer, bitter black powder into it. The substance is kept in a discreet porcelain pot from Yi Ti. The resulting bittersweet drink is sent down his throat in a single, generous gulp. 'Burns the throat, but tastes good…'

A few minutes later- though it seemed like an eternity to him- the trembling subsides, as do the sharp pain in his chest and the accelerated beating of his heart. He gives out a long, exhausted sigh. "I need to be more careful with the stress…***pant* **it might end up killing me one day…"

Letting out a silent curse to his House and their inbreeding, the new Lord of the Eyre feels as the poppy's famed soothing effect quickly settles in. By the time his goblet touched the rough surface of the table once more, Artys's mind had already begun to feel weak and blurry.

The last thing he sees is the appealing figure of lady Ysilla Royce walking into the chambers accompanied by her father and two of the Winged Kinghts. He couldn't hold the small smile from forming on his lips- surely the nobles could wait.

By the time their presence was announced by the knights, the new Lord Paramount of the Vale lied sound asleep on his father's chair. His mind already lost in the sacred realm of sweet dreams and foolish delusions.

For that's where his beloved father lives now.

* * *

_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: Have you watched Reign or the Tudors? You'll be finding some similarities in this story.**

**Anyways, that's it for this week. Two chapters in a day are a bit tiring, I must confess. Don't forget to give me your thoughts in the reviews- they keep me motivated to write after all- and to smack that FAV/Follow button.**

**Also, could you guess which will be the main pairing?**

**That's it for today. Have a good day, and don't forget to be awesome.**

**Wildfurion.**

**Listening to: Colors- by Ama Lee.**

**Status: Chill.**

**Doing: Reviewing some Clinical concepts for Physical Examination, among other stuff. Wish me luck with Med School boys.**


	3. The Andals II: Thoughts of a Trout

**The Andals II**

**A/N: Hey guys, Papa here with another chapter of The Andals.**

**This time, I'll be changing the POV to Catelyn- makes sense since she's the MC's aunt. This chapter will be showing some of the Northern opinions on the new Lord Arryn.**

**Thank you all for the reviews, I'll be replying to them now.**

**-Shrednector15: What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I'm still deciding about the pairing, though.**

**-Guest 47: There you are. Thank you for the review. Yeah, Artys is very different from Robert the Younger- he's frail and sickly, discreet and serene. They had different inspirations, Robert is more of a Louis XV with some Roy Mustang sprinkled tossed in. Artys, meanwhile, is more of a Louis XIV. As for the nickname…you'll be seeing it soon…**

**Wildfurion**

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_"Family, Duty, Honor."- House Tully's words._

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, nor do I own any of the series/anime/movies/comics/games/books cited. I merely own my character, and this fanfic._

_The Andals II_

_**-{Catelyn}-**_

_Winterfell, the North, 298 AC._

The Lady of Winterfell and wife to the Warden of the North, Catelyn Stark, was at the vanity of their bedchambers when her husband arrived.

At her thirty fourth nameday of age, the eldest of Hoster Tully's daughters is still a beauty to behold. Possessing the classical red-brown hair and blue eyes of her House, Cat- as she's called by those close to her- inherited her mother's long fingers and high cheek bones. She's also tall and gracious- even after five pregnancies- and hasn't lost her charm despite the harshness of the North.

"Cat." Her husband greets with a smile, pecking her lips affectionately. For seventeen years had she been married to the man, and their love only grew since then. "Your nephew sent you his reply, Maester Luwin said a raven from the Vale just arrived."

"Artys? So soon…" Poor boy. The son of her sister, Lysa, was rumored to be a clever young man, but with a very fragile health and great responsibilities despite being only a bit older than her own Robb. She had met him twice, at Riverrun- when he was born- and when he came to Winterfell for a brief visit, four years before. "Have you read it?"

"Not yet." Ned then hands her a sealed envelope with the beautiful seal of House Arryn depicted in molten wax on it.

Her nephew's letter was long, detailed and well-written. With a handwriting that would have made Septa Mordame fume in jealousy, Artys expressed his most sincere thanks for her comforting words after his father's sudden passing. According to him, the transition of power at the Vale was smooth and surprisingly fast- probably because the nobles were already used to him as the acting Lord. He says his mother's very shocked, as Jon Arryn's passing affected her deeply, and he's been caring for her as well as he could.

"Artys says he'll be accompanying the King in the visit." Cat then turns to her husband, who observes her quietly from his spot at their bed. "He asks if it would bother us to accommodate him and his men here at Winterfell, instead of Winter Town…"

"Of course not, Cat." Is Ned's response. "Artys is family, there'll always be room for him in Winterfell."

"And now he's Lord Arryn, how many men do you think will come? You should consider buying some more rooms just to make sure…"

That was a point. Artys wasn't just her nephew anymore, he was the Lord of the Vale- and future Warden of the East, when the King names him. Not only that, he's the undisputed head of House Arryn, the oldest, purest and proudest line of Andal nobility in all of the Seven Kingdoms. In such an endeavor, at least a hundred of the Vale's famed knights were supposed to escort him- no matter how safe the Kingsroad was said to be.

"Very well. I'll see to it, then." Her husband lets out a long sigh. Only Catelyn knew how tiring those days have been for him: with his friend and King coming North, most probably to name him the new Hand, Ned Stark seemed to have the entire world on his back. "Gods, those days have been so…harsh…"

The lady of Winterfell couldn't help but agree. Shortly after the passing of his most trusted advisor and Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, King Robert Baratheon decided to head North, to visit a man he considers to be his only true friend left: Ned Stark. The message is clear: Robert wants Eddard to take lord Jon's place. He wouldn't have traveled thousands of miles from King's Landing if not to bring his friend back with him.

"They've been hard to me as well, my love." The auburn-haired woman replies with a small, warm smile, walking to her husband to give him a soothing hug.

"The King…and now Lord Arryn too…"

"You're his uncle, Ned. He'll be fine if you call him by the name." the Tully corrects with a giggle. The Quiet Wolf had always been like this: solemn, honorable, just and reserved. But few could see the warm, gentle heart beneath his stern face and cold eyes. "Besides, it'll be good for the children to see him again. Robb and Sansa…even Arya, they'll be happy to see him again."

Or so she hoped. Her nephew seemed to have inherited some of Lysa's shyness, though his manifests in the form of long silences and a cold, serene aura. Artys' smiles were few and discreet, and his words sounded somewhat unnatural- no matter how cheerful they were. 'I hope he's changed a bit since last time…'

Of all her Tully relatives, Artys was probably the only one that bothered to write her more than twice a year. Thus, the lady of Winterfell knew much about the young man's ways and accomplishments: his prodigious skills in trade and business, his pacifying of the wild Mountain Clans and the expansion of the Arryn fleet. Her Ned had still not put the offer on the table, but the new Lord of the Eyre was a possible match for their Sansa- after all, the Arryns were known to marry their cousins to keep their blood pure, and their House was rich and powerful.

Brushing those thoughts aside, Cat follows her husband out to the corridor with a sigh. She's the lady of Winterfell.

And the neither the castle, nor the North, would rule itself.

Built around a godswood, and with its foundations lying over natural hot springs, the huge, ancient fortified complex that is Winterfell has been the seat of House Stark for thousands of years. The fortress is defended by two massive stone walls, separated by a deep moat, and many towers and keeps, and has many courtyards, kitchens and even a glass garden.

It is in one of those yards, under the shade of the old keep known as the Broken Tower, that Lord Stark's children train.

Catelyn watches with a warm smile, as her fourth child, a young boy named Brandon, takes aim at a wooden dummy. The arrow misses by a good distance, much to the chuckles of her eldest, Robb, Theon Greyjoy and- much to her displeasure- Jon Snow.

She never truly forgave Ned for bringing the bastard boy to Winterfell, many years ago. Cat understood men had their needs, especially in war, when they don't even know if they'll live to see another day- thus ceding to temptation easily- but when her husband arrived at the castle with the baby in his arms, she couldn't help but hate him.

According to rumors, Jon's mother was a woman called Ashara Dayne, sister to the Sword of the Morning. A Dornish beauty from Starfall, tall, gracious and with beautiful lilac eyes- who seduced even the honorable Ned Stark into a night of heated passion. She confronted him about Ashara, once, and that was the only time Catelyn Tully ever feared her husband- he asked where he heard the name and she told him, like the dutiful wife she was. Never again, was lady Dayne's name mentioned in Winterfell.

"Which one of you was a marksman at ten?" She hears her husband reprimand. "Keep practicing, Bran."

"Maybe we should ask the new lord Arryn to help him with it when he comes?" Cat inquires, to which Ned replies with a cocked brow. "Lysa told me he's good with it, Lord Jon gave him a bow made of a Dragon's bones that's taller than Robb…"

"Perhaps…"

"Arty's coming?" the hear a voice inquire behind them, only to see their youngest daughter- the fierce and spirited Arya.

At her ninth nameday, Cat's second daughter seems to be the only one in the family to favor the Stark looks. Skinny and athletic, she's inherited her father's long face, grey eyes and dark brown hair. If not for her dress, one could easily take her for a boy- though she acts as if she were actually one most of the time- and she has her direwolf, Nymeria, by her feet.

The direwolves were another thing Cat has yet to get used to. They were found by Eddard and their sons when the Lord of Winterfell went out to execute a deserter from the Night's Watch, two moons before. While the circumstances in which they were found were worrisome- their mother was found dead, with a stag's horn to her throat, and both Direwolf and Stag were sigils of Houses Stark and Baratheon, respectively- the beasts seemed to have bonded with her children and Jon Snow quite well.

"Yes, your cousin is the new Defender of the Vale now." Eddard replies with a smile, noticing the composite bow in Arya's hand. Both knew she'd probably escaped her lessons with the septa again, but said nothing. "He'll be accompanying the King and his family north."

"Good." Is her daughter's blunt response, earning Catelyn a long sigh. Arya's temper was indeed unique. "I want to see if he can ride a falcon. Last time he told me all Arryns can do it."

Throughout her life, Catelyn Tully learned that feelings could bloom in the weirdest of places. Her marriage to Ned Stark was such an example…

But even she was surprised, when she learned how well Arya got along with her older cousin. Their personalities contrasted like night and day: Artys is discreet, serene and regal- the center of attentions at the Vale- while Arya is rash, wild and rebellious. Cat knew there was no love between them, at least not yet, as her nephew would have talked to Ned already. But the affection was still evident.

"What do you think your cousin would say if he heard you escaped your lessons again, little lady?" Ned asks with a warm smile. Both knew very well Arya's distaste for most ladylike activities, such as sewing, singing and reading romances. Like her deceased aunt, Lyanna, Arya preferred riding, and had a strong wish to fight and explore.

"He would have his nose stuck in a book, so he'd not say a thing." Arya replies with a sheepish smile. "That's what he cares about, books and more books."

Cat took note of that- she almost forgot that queer detail. With the royal entourage approaching more and more as the days pass, she'd asked Maester Luwin to place extra candles at lord Tyrion's- the Queen's younger brother- chambers. She'd make sure to do the same to her nephew's now.

Of one thing Lady Stark is sure: there's still much to do before the King arrives.

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_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: Liked the chapter? Tell me your thoughts on the reviews.**

**I'll be posting chapter 3 next week, so you won't be waiting for long. That's it for now…I guess…**

**Papa's out.**

**Wildfurion**

**Listening to: Mirrors- Justin Timberlake.**

**Doing: Reading about erythemas.**

**Status: Damn tired.**


	4. The Andals III: Homecoming

**The Andals III**

**A/N: SURPRISE!**

**Yes, I did this. I managed to write two chapters in a single day. Am I not awesome?**

**Anyways, I'm hella tired. So don't forget to leave your FAV/Follow and review. **

**I'll be answering to some of the comments on the last chapter.**

**-Thunderbird29: Yes, this story is supposed to have way shorter chapters. Make the whole writing thing easier, and the flow smoother. It also allows me to publish more chapters per month.**

**-JimmyHall24: Thx man.**

**-Guest 47: The best reviews, indeed. I already have some ideas, though it is nothing you would expect- a tip, red-eyes, small stature. About the Sistermen, I'll see what I can do, but Artys already has some of the clans' support. You'll also be seeing some more of his personality in this very chapter, since it's his time to shine once more. Red Priestess…maybe, but I'm a bigger fan of Moqorro.**

**That's it for today, I guess. Peace.**

**Wildfurion.**

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"_Family, Duty, Honor."- House Tully's words._

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, nor do I own any of the series/anime/movies/comics/games/books cited. I merely own my character, and this fanfic._

_The Andals III_

_**-{Artys}-**_

**(CHECK ON THE POLL AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER)**

The thunderous sound of hooves hitting the moist clay of the River Road echoes through the fertile, lush valley of the Red Fork.

Three hundred of the Vale's finest Knights follow the course of the muddy stream, having escorted their new overlord- Lord Artys, of House Arryn- down the High Road into his mother's homeland. Eyes accompany the Fork's course with interest, taking note of each wooded islet and each trade raft they pass by.

The Riverlands are prosperous, that is beyond any serious doubt. Being the most central of the regions in Westeros, the dominion of House Tully is the second most populous of the Kingdom, and the area is cut by an uncountable amount of rivers and fiords that act like arteries: the fisherfolk, usually making use of their light skiffs, transport grain and many products down the Trident to Saltpans- a port town where the food produced was usually shipped off to the North, Dorne and the capital.

Merchant ships also came up the rivers, to buy and sell exotic goods- including the small, tart grapes grown in the region. Unlike Artys, who rules over the mountainous Vale, Lord Hoster has his lands alternating between suave hills, forests and vast farmlands.

'I hate riding…' the auburn-haired Protector of the Vale thinks with an internal sigh, completely hidden by his calm expression. Pale, bony fingers- each of them wearing a fancy, jeweled golden ring- tighten their grip on the crude leather of the reins as his brindled gypsy steed gallops ahead, in front of the long column. White and blue banners of House Arryn fluttering behind them. 'I'd rather be on a ship right now.'

Artys' original plan was to ride to Gulltown, where a ship could transport him and some twenty or thirty bodyguards to Fairmarket or Oldstones- where he'd wait for the King. Maybe even meet his Jenny, who'll snatch his frozen heart like she did to the Prince of Dragonflies.

Yet his mother, lady Lysa, objected- stating that the Lord of the Vale shouldn't expose himself to such danger- and insisted on his riding through the High Road towards Harrowtown, escorted by the cream of the Vale's knights. He left Colemon as the Eyre's steward, despite knowing his mother would be in command anyways- and decided to ride for Riverrun, instead of Harrowtown, to pay a visit to his grandfather- Lord Hoster Tully.

'Thank the Seven we're almost there.' Artys winces in pain at the burns in between his thighs. They've been riding for far longer than he'd be comfortable with, despite the stays they took at night at the stout castles of many river lords. He had to take a larger dose of the poppy- among other remedies carried in his purse- every day in order to keep going. 'I think I wouldn't last another day.'

As the red sandstone walls of Riverrun finally come into view, the new Lord Arryn couldn't hold the relived sigh back anymore- he had his back turned to his men, so he could relax a bit. 'I wonder if I should have brought Robert with me…' He feared his little brother would grow too spoiled, if left with their mother for much longer. Lysa Tully had grown too protective since Artys left for the Eyre, more than a decade before- a bit of protection is good, that's a fact, but flacons had to learn how to fly by themselves.

Just as he thought about the bird, two loud screeches make themselves heard up high in the skies. As if sensing his relief, two large birds of prey make a rapid descent from their place among the clouds, flapping their broad wings to make for a suave landing on each of his shoulders.

The first to land is Artys' favorite hunting companion, _Lightning. _The young, black-feathered Golden Eagle sinks its sharp talons on the rough leather of his riding clothes, before cleaning its feathers with its sharp beak. The late Lord's Gyrfalcon, _Thunder_, lands soon after. The white bird has yet to get fully used to a new master, and often pecks at the sensible skin of Artys' neck.

"There you are." The young lord greets with a faint smile, taking strips of deer jerky and feeding some to the birds before eating one himself. The meat was a welcome treat. "That hunt at Longbow Hall was worth it, I guess…"

The trout banners of House Tully hang loosely from the masts- with no wind to flutter them- as the column of Valeman knights rides through the fortress' main, redwood gate.

While not nearly as large as Highgarden or Winterfell, the ancestral seat of House Tully is remarkably strong. Located right at (and guarding) the crossing of the Red Fork and Tumblestone rivers, Riverrun is a three-sided castle- with a massive, man-made ditch located on the side connected to the land. When the flood gates are open, in times of danger, the stronghold can be turned into an island- further improving its strength.

"Lord Arryn." Greets the bald captain of the guard of Riverrun, Ser Robin Ryger. The old knight is stout of build, being about a head shorter than Artys, and wears heavy chainmail and plate. "It's an honor to welcome you to Riverrun."

Immediately, two beautiful serving girls- one red-haired, the other blonde- walked in carrying two plates containing a fresh bread and salt. Understanding what they meant, the boy quickly dismounted from his steed, taking out his canteen and cleaning the dirt off his hands before eating. Guest right- a tradition taken very seriously in the Seven Kingdoms, especially among the Houses such as the Arryns.

'I'll remember to call them for my bed later…' As the girls went to offer the same to his men, Artys' blue eyes rapidly scanned the courtyard- looking for familiar faces. With the exception of some servants- who mostly look at his armored knights in awe- there's close to none. "Where's my uncle, Edmure? I thought he'd be here when I arrived."

"Your uncle is out hunting with some of our men. Luckily, we'll be having venison for dinner." The man replies seriously. "He'll be coming soon, Lord Arryn."

"Good." The Red Falcon couldn't help but feel the saliva forming just at the thought of a good, spiced venison. He had been fasting for nearly five days, as eating seems to improve his chances of having a crisis- which would be…unpleasant at the road. "Provide proper accommodations for my men, please. I shall take a bath and rest before visiting my grandfather."

"Understood, my Lord."

The walk to his chambers is short. Soon, Artys finds himself silently lying on a comfortable feather cushion, eyes staring at the ceiling, hearing the Tumblestone flow outside. "This is life ***sigh***…" he yawns and turns on the bed. His room at the Wheel Tower is huge, and decorated with fancy furniture imported from Lys and Myr. A faint smell of perfume impregnates the white sheets. "Being the Eyre's perfect Lord is tiresome at times."

As the eldest son of the great Jon Arryn, the young man known had always needed to live up to people's expectations. Despite his frail health, his father demanded much from him since an early age- 'You don't need to be perfect, you need people to see you as such.' Was what his father said. 'Never show your weaknesses, always be graceful and lordly- in your movements, your eating, and even your breathing.'

The lords of the Vale respected him because they saw him as a man worthy of being the heir of a great line- a cunning, young lord, with unrivaled skills with both the bow, and the pen. The commoners saw him as pious- a mask which he used to cover for his scandals- noble and daring, the slender Knight who pacified the wild Mountain Clans with blood, steel and gold- the one and only Red Falcon. The merchants saw him as a generous ally, with his low taxes, while the Faith had in him a generous patron. Many saw his qualities, and only a select few could see the failures beneath. _"A perfect image, for a largely imperfect man." _He whispered in High Valyrian. "I'd better take a bath, those clothes stink."

It is early evening when Artys finally makes his way down to the castle's Great Hall, taking the shorter way through the Godswood while escorted by Ser Lyn Corbray, who had offered to accompany him in the voyage. "I'll never get tired of this place." The auburn-haired Lord says to no one in specific, running his hand over a redwood's smooth surface. The brown-haired wielder of Lady Forlorn has his eyes to his back, but says nothing. 'I wonder if mother and aunt Cat played here…'

Brushing those thoughts aside, the Red Falcon runs a hand over his red-brown curls, casually adjusting them back into ringlets before walking into the Great Hall. Like the Kings of Mountain and Vale of old, he wears an impressive, light blue ermine overcoat over a tunic of pure, white Myrish velvet. The set is completed by a pair of tight, purple pants made of Qartheen silk. 'Add a golden, jeweled crown, and I'm the new King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men.'

He'd surely like that.

"Look, it's him!" "The Red Falcon of Arryn." He hears some guests whisper, many are Lord Hoster's bannermen- who'd come after hearing of his visit. "Such serene grace…the rumors are true, he does look like a prince." "I heard he never missed a single arrow with his bow." "A friend's cousin once told me he's the splitting image of King Aenys." He recognizes the familiar faces of Lord Tytos, of Raventree Hall, and his child daughter, Bethany; the heavy, brown-haired Lord Jonos Bracken, and five fair ladies- Barbara, Jayne, Catelyn, Bess and Alysanne- his daughters, with whom he'd dined with some nights before. 'They haven't given up, I presume…'

"Beloved nephew! Welcome to Riverrun!" his uncle, the carefree and cheerful Edmure Tully, greets from his place at the high end of the table. The heir to Riverrun stands up from his seat- which would usually be occupied by the Lord- to give him a crushing hug. Much to Artys' discomfort, that is. "It's been centuries since you last came. Please, come, sit, this feast is in your honor as the new Lord Arryn!"

"Thank you, uncle." The Lord of the Vale replies with one of his rare, discreet smiles.

Like all the Tullys, Edmure- which was his mother's younger brother- had the classical auburn hair and blue eyes, though his- unlike Artys'- were of a much lighter tone. A bard named Tom of the Sevenstreams plays the harp as they eat and drink, and- while the feast is not as entertaining as the balls at the Eyre- the food's good, and he gets to learn more about the Riverlands' situation with his loose-tongued uncle.

It is dire, to say the least. Having been stricken by a severe illness, Lord Hoster Tully lies on the thin borders of life and death. Not even Artys expected that, considering he was being lifted in his grandfather's arms not so long ago- the man used to be healthy, proud and strong. Edmure has yet to marry, despite being thirty namedays old- which meant a potential succession crisis.

"***ahem*** Lord Arryn." Hearing the cough, Artys turns his gaze to the figure of Lord Bracken- who seems to be dressed to impress. "A word, if you mind?"

"Of course." The Lord of the Vale replies with a nod and only apparent serenity, barely managing to hide his irritation. Even his patience had limits, and the man was beginning to test it. Filling up his goblet with more iced wine. Both walk out to lady Minisa's gardens, where the castle's Sept was located. "So, what is it?"

The older man than talks and talks about the fertile lands of House Bracken, about how they made them richer than even their own overlords, about how their lineage was old and prestige and about how his daughters were beautiful and intelligent. The entire conversation sounded boring at the Red Falcon's ears, so he stayed mostly silent.

"Unfortunately, Lord Arryn, I seem to be lacking an heir. My wife's too old to have children, and I don't plan to take another after she passes away…" his eyes then lock on Artys', as if trying to read beneath the serene expression of lord Jon's eldest. Like others, he failed miserably and quickly gave up. "My eldest daughter, Barbara, is the heiress to Stone Hedge, and I'd like to find a good husband for her…"

"I'll see what I can do, lord Bracken." Not waiting for a response, the young man turns on his heels and leaves back to his chambers- two knights following him close as he walks. 'I'll make him wait…' the auburn-haired Lord thinks with a discreet- but mischievous- grin forming on his lips. '…then I'll give him my 'answer'.'

When he walks into his chambers, he sees the two girls from earlier already there- waiting on his bed. Their clothes had long been discarded, and their naked bodies reflected the faint light of the fires. "Well…" for the first time in days, his smirk is finally uncontained . The stern tranquility in his eyes being replaced by predatory desire and lust.

"I might as well indulge myself a bit."

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_**Chapter End.**_

**A/N: I'm studying about the Dermis now, so I'm excited to see your answers to this poll: which do you think will be the main pairing? Answer that in the reviews, lol.**

**That's it for today, guys. See you next week.**

**Listening to: Lo-fi beats.**

**Doing: Studying and drinking iced tea.**

**Status: Half-dead.**

**Wildfurion.**


	5. The Andals IV: Queen and Knight

**The Andals IV**

**A/N: Hey! This chapter's just a short extra, since I've got some things planned for when the royals arrive at Winterfell. Anyways, next chapter will be Arya's POV, and I'll try to make it a bit longer than this one.**

**Sorry, I just had this insight and had to add this to the story. Anyhow, enjoy the reading. Next chapter comes out on Saturday.**

**Wildfurion**

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_The Andals IV_

_**-{Cersei}-**_

_Oldstones, Riverlands, 298 AC_

Though many don't know, the ancient ruins of Oldstones had once served as the glorious seat of the ancient and powerful Kings of the Rivers and the Hills.

One of the Arryns' oldest enemies, the now extinct House Mudd was the last dynasty of First Men to unify the entire region around the Trident, with the historians reporting their rule to have lasted for a thousand years- before Andal invaders, led by seven allied kings, banded together to destroy their kingdom many millennia before.

Located atop a thickly forested hill right above the warm, crystalline waters of the Blue Fork, the abandoned stronghold is limited by the foundations of what once were powerful walls, while the main bastion of the castle is now a mossy maze of ruined buildings and mossy stones.

And it is there, in the middle of the keep's yard, sitting on a great carved tomb and surrounded by wild white flowers and ash trees, that Artys Arryn plays his harp.

Queen Cersei Lannister observes the scene in curious silence, as the recently appointed Warden of the East uses his bony fingers to pull on the silver strings with remarkable skill. The first beams of sunlight reflect on his auburn hair, making it glow like polished bronze. _"High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts ..."_

'Jenny's song? How ironic…'the blonde Lannister beauty thinks with a faint smile. Cersei waits patiently until he finishes, appreciating the soothing sound of his harp until the song finally ends. Only then, does she decide to make her presence known.

"Your Grace? I wasn't expecting to see you here." The slender boy greets with a nod, red lips contorting in a faint smile. Though he is somewhat frail and sickly, the Queen couldn't help but find him quite handsome for his age. Especially his eyes, there was something about them that just…affected her, somehow. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually, yes." The Queen replies with a smile, as false as her courteous words. The many years living at court had taught her much in the art of flattery and manipulation. "Please, walk with me, Lord Arryn."

For some long seconds, the young knight's sole response is an eerie silence- his sapphire eyes studying her intently, as if he were looking for traps hidden in between the lines. Finally, he seems to decide her intentions are friendly, and graciously offers her an arm with a nod.

They walk out to the abandoned godswood, two Arryn guards following them close- though not enough to hear their conversation. The son of the late Hand, Jon Arryn, is mostly silent- listening more than he talks. His answers are brief and concise, and he is gracious and serene even in his steps.

To say the boy is a mystery would be the understatement of the century. Unlike his father, who was kind and trusting, the auburn-haired Arryn is reserved, suspicious and well-spoken. Although his rare words sound sweet and soothing to the ear, they're somewhat vague…and even a Lannister such as her has difficulty to extract much information from them.

"Tell me, lord Artys." They come to a halt facing an ancient weirwood tree. "Will you be accompanying us back to King's Landing? Or do you intent to return to the Eyre?"

That was a rather important question, as Eddard Stark, the one chosen by the drunken fool that is Robert Baratheon- Cersei's husband- to be the new Hand, is Artys Arryn's uncle by marriage. Seeing that the young man was not nearly as foolish as the father, the Queen was rather weary of his presence. 'Maybe his father told him…'

"My place is at the Eyre, Your Grace." Is the boy's response. His face, as usual, shows little to no emotion- pale as he is, he looks like a doll made of the purest YiTish porcelain. "Though I still wish to serve the realm in the best way possible."

"A pity, indeed…the Crown could make use of a man as cunning as you…"

"You flatter me, my Queen." Artys rebukes, eyes staring forward as they walk back to the royal camp. Her fingers' grip on his arm tightens up a bit, but he seems unfazed by it. "Though I'm afraid the city's air does little good to us Arryns. My father used to be a healthy man the last time I saw him, now though…"

"Your father was a good man, losing him must have been difficult…" Their eyes meet once more. The way he looks at her…he's like a ghost from her past, the same dead, emotionless eyes she dreamt off during most of her childhood. They stop by the entrance of her wheeled house, where they finally break apart. "Thank you for your company. I wish you a good day, Lord Arryn."

With a curtsy, the beautiful Queen turns on her heels to leave. She can feel his eyes on her back, and couldn't hold back the pleased grin from forming on her face.

'Soon, I'll have you eating from my hand, Artys Arryn…'

And Cersei Lannister couldn't help but feel excited at the thought.

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_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: And so begins a catastrophe.**

**I had to add this Oldstones chapter. Three pages, pretty fast to read. Till Saturday~**

**Wildfurion**


	6. The Andals V: Little She-Wolf

**The Andals V**

**A/N: Well…seems like I've been feeling inspired these days.**

**Sup' guys? Wildfurion here, best terrible author in this site. The week has been hellish to me, many things to study, a lot of work in the hospital and few money for a Med School student. Anyhow, this chapter will be Arya's first POV in the story.**

**I'll be expressing some of her thoughts on the royal visit and, mainly, Artys' arrival. I don't have much more to say, as I'm very tired now (haven't had my dose of coffee yet).**

**Anyways, I'll be answering to some of your reviews.**

**Chapter 4:**

**-** **Thunderbird29: Wait and see, I'm sure you'll be surprised in the end.**

**-DARKLORDVADER: Indeed, the War of the Five Kings is a lose-lose situation. Artys may even interfere, but he'll make sure to have a Plan B.**

**-** **Chaplion Of The West: Hope you like this chapter then.**

**-** **JaCk-o'-LaNtErN 91: Maybe for both? Maybe for the whole ream? Who knows? And yes, Artys is inspired in Louis XIV- thus, most of his personality is based on the figure, who was a great Prince by Machiavelli's standards. The book is very interesting, and I admit to have read it at least thrice. Dorian Gray was one of my fountains of inspirations too, especially in the image part.**

**-** **JimmyHall24: Thank you, man. Hope you enjoy this as much as I do. The game between Lioness and Falcon has only just begun.**

**-** **kira444: She is, indeed.**

**-** **NightlyRowenTree: Hope you're as hyped as I am.**

**-Felon GT: This one certainly won't. Let me remind you that Artys is no hero, he's an ambitious bastard with the wits and persona of a Roose Bolton, under the guise of a Rhaegar.**

**-** **Greywing101: Wait and see, man. Wait and see.**

**-Guest 47: That'll definitely happen.**

**That's it, I guess. Now that we're done with the reviews, let's go for the reading! Enjoy.**

**Wildfurion.**

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_The Andals V_

"_Arya had always been harder to tame." -Catelyn Stark_

_**-{Arya}-**_

_Winterfell, the North, 298 AC._

Like an enormous river of gold and silver, black and crimson, black and blue, the royal procession was most surely a spectacle to the curious eyes of the harsh Northmen. More than six hundred riders, a splendor of vassal lords, knights and free warriors, had joined King Robert Baratheon and the new Lord of the Eyre- the famed and loved Red Falcon- in their joint journey to the North.

The Knights of the Vale were especially attractive to the girl's eyes, polished armors glowing like the purest silver under the pale northern sun, long, blue cloaks flying behind them as they trotted in a very slow pace, like in a parade. From her privileged stand on the broken carriage, she could recognize the banners as they fluttered past her- the black and golden crowned stag of House Baratheon, the crimson and gold of the proud, roaring lion of Lannister and, last, but not least, the regal white and blue falcon of Arryn.

'Now…where's the prick…oh, there he is.' Arya stark couldn't manage to hold the grin that formed in her small lips once her eyes landed on the slender figure of 'little Lord Perfect', more commonly known as Artys Arryn. He rides right by a blonde boy's side, and- as usual- is dressed in an expensive garb: this time a luxurious winter coat made of a white bear's fur. 'He looks sick, as always.'

Unfortunately for the skinny Stark girl, however, her (least) favorite cousin doesn't seem to recognize her- partly due to the old helm she was wearing- so, having nothing else to do, she rapidly rushes back into the castle. Somehow, she manages to arrive before the procession- maybe because they rode too slowly?

"Hey, hey, hey." Her father, the Lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark, stops her before she can get to her place in the line with her siblings. "What are you doing with that on?" Gently, he removes her helmet before tapping her back.

With a childish huff, Arya is quick to take her place in between Bran and Sansa.

The first ones to ride in are the Prince, Joffrey, and Lord Arryn- who was given the honor of heading the column by the King, she presumed. This time, she noticed the immensely long, black Dragonbone bow tied to the side of his bay's saddle. Though Joffrey's eyes immediately find Sansa's- and both begin to exchange suggestive glances- the auburn-haired cousin of theirs seems to be distracted, his cold blue eyes fixed in the a point behind the Starks and their household.

'As usual, dragging attention.' Arya thinks with a scowl. 'I want to play with that bow though…'

The King rides soon after, followed by a large, red wheelhouse. The man's one of the tallest Arya has ever seen, having a long mane of black hair, blue eyes and a long dark beard. He's also immensely fat, and reeks of strong perfume.

Following her father's example, the Starks and the servants all kneel before the man. When the King signals them to rise up again, both Prince Joffrey and Lord Arryn had already dismounted- and this time, Artys seems to finally recognize her, though his answer is a mere nod.

He truly hasn't changed much. She suddenly seems to notice the lack of a certain individual, turning to her red-haired older sister, Sansa, and blurting out. "Where's the IMP?"

Needless to say, Sansa was flushed like a tomato and snapped at her.

"Ned! You have no idea how good it is to see your frozen face!" With a loud chuckle, Robert put the smaller lord down and gave him a good look upside down. "You got fat, though."

"Your Grace…" Ned replied with a smile, merely staring down at the King's salient belly. Though his looks had changed drastically since the last time they met, the fact was that Robert Baratheon changed little in his ways. "Winterfell is yours."

Robert's response was yet another chuckle, appreciating the discreet joke. Soon, though, the King calmed down, and turned serious. "Enough with the 'Your Grace', you're my oldest friend Ned. Call me by the name."

"Yes, your…Robert."Ned replied, hesitating a bit before giving up with a sigh. He knew there was no way to just say 'no' to Robert.

"It's been nine years, Ned, and you haven't changed a bit!"

The King and Arya's father exchange some friendly words, before he greets all the family. He eyes her with curiosity, as if she reminded him of someone, before going for her other siblings- Bran and Rickon. Few minutes later, and both the King and Arya's father leave to the crypts of Winterfell, much to the blonde Queen's fury.

"Artys!"

"Aunt Cat." Artys' arms wrap around her mother in a warm hug. His voice, as usual, is melodious- his words polite, and carefully chosen. Such a bookworm he was, 'Lord Perfect' could very well be the perfect dictionary. "It's been quite a long time."

Letting go of their mother, he proceeds to greet Arya's siblings- mostly ignoring her. She was about to charge into his stomach for this until, finally, he walks up to her.

"Oh, if it isn't Lady Arya."

"I'm not a lady, prick."

"You're right, you're not a lady..." A smile forms on Artys' face, though this one is not nearly as discreet as the others. Some of the Knights and servants of the Vale seem to notice this, and observe the exchange with growing curiosity. "You're a little she-wolf, Arya."

"Where's your falcon?" Arya asks, blunt as always, looking around the courtyard with curiosity. "Last time you told me all Arryns could ride one."

"I was lying to you, of course."

"I knew it!"

Her relationship with Artys Arryn was, indeed, a complex one. Much like her older brothers, Robb and Jon, he's about six years her senior- and her cousin by her mother's side of the family. Like Jon, he seems to hold a solemn air around him, though his is less melancholic, and more like serene and distinguished.

Arya was only five namedays old when they first met, and used to try and bother him for her own entertainment. Since then, she's taken a liking to the older boy: he seemed to be the only one besides Jon not to disapprove her…unladylike interests. On the contrary, they seemed to amuse him.

"Where are you going?" Is what she inquires as she follows him through the corridors of Winterfell. Her auburn-haired cousin walks as if he knows the fortress like the palm of his hand.

"The Library Tower, of course." Artys replies without a second thought. "There was a book there the last time I've been here…_the Princess and the Queen_, I believe. I'm interested in it."

"That's boring." The young girl mumbles back in response. Lord of the Vale or not, the man is still as bookish as ever- and while Arya liked some texts and had quite the skill with the numbers, she'd rather be out riding or hunting with Nymeria than reading. "We should go hunting. Then maybe you could lend me that black bow…"

"We?" he rebukes, cocking his brow in clear amusement.

"My father would let me go…if it were with you, I mean…"

"You're not strong enough for Dragonbone, Arya. It's too powerful, and you're too skinny." The Lord of the Vale then ruffles her brown hair with another smile, though this one is again only a ghost. Arya's response is a jab to his side, though he seems unfazed by it. "Besides, aunt Cat would be furious if she found out, and I'd rather not displease her…"

"Lady Arya!" In walks Winterfell's septa, and tutor of Lord Stark's children, the old, and strict Mordane. As usual, she looks at Arya with nothing but disapproval in her eyes. "I apologize, Lord Arryn. You must be tired from the voyage yet…"

"Don't worry, holy sister." Artys replies with a nod, back to his usual serious- and somewhat intimidating- demeanor. "Lady Arya was merely seeing me to my accommodations." His gaze briefly turns to her, before going back to the old woman. "I believe you could relieve her of today's…lessons. I'll be needing her guidance while I still get used to the castle, after all."

"Hmm…" the septa looks at him thoughtfully for some seconds. The man standing in front of her is one of the Faith's most generous patrons, renowned across the Seven Kingdoms for his piety and kindness. The woman nods, before giving him a curtsy. "Very well, Lord Arryn. I'll be relieving Lady Arya from today's lessons then."

"Thank you, _Lord Perfect_." The girl says with a playful grin, once the old hag is finally gone. Her grey eyes glare at the direction where her tutor had gone. "I hate her."

"You shouldn't. The poor woman's simply trying to do her duty and try and make you into a true, proper lady." And another jab it is, though this time he couldn't hold the small wince at the punch she gives his ribs. "Was that really necessary, Arya?"

"You deserved it."

"Is that so?" Artys inquires in the usual calm tone, his shaved face mostly plain and emotionless. Even his eyes seemed void and empty sometimes… "Now then…on to the library."

"Don't you ever get tired of reading?"

"Never." His bony hands then search through the pockets of his coat, looking for something. Few seconds later, he hands her a folded piece of parchment- containing the soaring falcon of Arryn as a seal. "Give this to Snow; he'll know what to do."

"I'm not your raven." The Stark rebukes with a scowl. Of course, she wouldn't let him order her around like this. "Hand it yourself, _Lord Perfect_."

"It's for you, little she-wolf." Her insult has no effect on him, as usual. 'Lord Perfect' was a nickname Arya's brother, Robb, had given their cousin during his last visit. The name had quite obvious reasons. "Do as I say and maybe I'll ask your father to take you out on a hunt."

"You promise it?"

"I do."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The little Stark girl nearly tackles her auburn-haired cousin down in a hug. "I've always wanted to go hunting, but father never lets me go with him!"

"I'll see what I can do about that then, little one…" The pale Lord of the Eyre replies, his voice soothing as he pats her head with his bony fingers. Just then, a guard bearing Lannister colors walks in the scene- cocking a brow at the Arryn and his wild cousin. "What is it?"

"The Queen summons you, m'lord." The nervous guard then turns to Arya, giving her a respectful nod. "I apologize, lady Stark."

"Very well." The man known as the Red Falcon then turns his gaze back to the girl, who still has her arms around his slim waist. "See you later then, little lady."

Arya's grey eyes follow him as he walks away, guided by the Lannister guard to where she supposed would be the Queen's chambers. What she can't see, however, is the faint smile that forms on his lips.

It is almost as if this royal visit had all of a sudden become very, very interesting.

* * *

_**Chapter End.**_

**A/N: Another short chapter for you. Some of you have PMd me about the length of those chapters, and while I agree that it differs from my other stories- check them out, if you want to- that definitely allows me to publish more frequently.**

**Just to give you an idea of how I'm writing this fic, this entire chapter was written during my break at the Pediatrics section. The patients were all sleeping, so the chief gave me this free time. I'm still here, by the way. All-nighters suck, I know.**

**Don't forget to FAV/Follow and review. Papa's out.**

**Listening to: My Demons- Starset.**

**Doing: A hellish amount of paperwork, while drinking iced tea.**

**Status: Hella tired.**

**Wildfurion.**


	7. The Andals VI:Secrets and Affairs

**The Andals VI: Secrets and Affairs.**

**A/N: So hey, another extra chapter I've recently added to the tray. Next POV, Artys is back again- with more Arya interactions.**

**Many of you won't like the content of this chapter, but I figured it essential for the rest of the plot- especially when Joffrey rises to the throne. More and more cracks begin to appear in Artys Arryn's image, how will he mend them? IDK, maybe we'll be seeing it later…**

**Anyhow, I'll be replying to your reviews right away.**

**-** **NightlyRowenTree: You're welcome, sire.**

**-** **JimmyHall24: That's the idea, short chapters, but well-written and full of content. It makes writing easier, and I can update more frequently so that the reader doesn't get lost.**

**-** **Thunderbird29: Cersei and Artys…what a scandal. There'll be more to them, that is a given. She even summoned him to her chambers on the last chapter, Artys' opinion on that coming soon ( ͡ ͜ʖ ͡) Next chapter will be about 4k words, since it'll contain some important stuff for the plot. Hence why I'll only publish it next weekend.**

**-Guest 47: Arya Stark is the perfect Tsundere material, I'll tell you that. Writing her is very hard, because you have to look at the situation with the eyes of a little she-wolf, who doesn't even realize who she's in love with. And yeah, she'll stick close to him. About Sansa, she'll be closer to him much later in the plot, even though they look practically the same.**

**-Guest: Gracias amigo. Mi español no es muy ****bueno****, pero el arco viene de las islas de verano. Los huesos son del Dragonpit. ****Y no, el último capítulo tenía 8 páginas.**

**Wildfurion**

* * *

"_No man is free. Only children and fools think elsewise."- Tywin Lannister._

_The Andals VI: Secrets and Affairs._

_**-{Lyn}-**_

_Winterfell, the North, 298 AC._

The next morning, the Lord of the Eyre and recently appointed Warden of the East is reading when Lyn walks into his chambers, not even bothering to be announced by the guarding Winged Knights.

Even with his back turned to him, Artys Arryn is- undoubtedly- one of the most handsome men the heir to Heart's Home has ever seen. His long, auburn ringlets fall graciously over his face; long, bony fingers resting under his chin as he concentrates on the book at hands. The boy's skin is as pale as the Northern snow, and reflects the morning light that comes through the glass windows of his room.

"What do you think you are doing, Lyn?" Is what his 'liege'- more like patron- inquires, not even bothering to take his eyes from the yellow pages. Not able to resist his natural appeal, the Corbray Knight went to wrap his arms around the Lord's frail, soft body, pulling him into his chest.

"You know what I'm doing, my Lord." The Knight replies teasingly. This time, Artys' eyes look up to stare at him. Cold, emotionless eyes that are of the same color as the sapphires of his rings.

"Let me go, now." The young Lord of the Eyre orders with a chilly, cutting tone. "I said…now!"

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll have you hanged by the hour." Artys then shakes his way out of Lyn's arms with a frown. The wielder of the Valyrian steel blade, _Lady Forlorn_, merely scowls before stepping back. 'Refused, yet again…' he thinks bitterly.

Despite the Arryns' pride of their honor and purity, the fact is that the court at the Eyre is about as scandalous as the one in King's Landing. Sex, corruption, gluttony, ambition…though subtle, their presence around the Lord of the Eyre was still strong.

One of the best well-hidden secrets, however, involved both the young lord, and the Corbray heir. Four years prior to Lord Jon's death, Lyn had- somehow- managed to get into the sickly heir's good graces, and eventually…into his bed.

'Oh, I still remember, how innocent he was back then…' the Knight couldn't hold back the shiver that made its way up his spine, as he took in the man's delicate figure. He had once enjoyed that savory body…thoroughly. 'Now, though, he doesn't even let me get close…'

The scandalous affair lasted for the greatest part of two years, until Artys turned five-and-ten namedays old. It was then, that he realized Lyn had manipulated him, used him to sate his own lusts. The grossed out Lord of the Eyre only kept him close now, because he did not trust him enough to let him simply go.

It was also then, that Artys had turned suspicious and even more discreet than he already was. The current Artys did not trust anyone, not even family; his eyes were devoid of any form of emotion, apart from the occasional glimpse of wrath. That is the new Lord Arryn: serene, gracious, cynical, ambitious and- most of all- ruthless.

"Do not ever touch me again." The boy says menacingly. Oh, how Lyn envied that bitch- Myranda Royce. The girl had him for night after night, and no one said a thing- no, any courtier who even dared to say a thing about their 'Perfect Lord' would get immediately isolated from the court. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord." Lyn replies with a deep bow, lowering his head so that the Lord couldn't see his mocking scowl. His grip on _Lady Forlorn_'s pommel tightens, and in the depths of his mind, a part of his thirsts for blood. Pure, Andal blood. "Anything else, my Lord?"

"No." Artys says with a glare, snapping his long fingers. The two guards walk into the chambers, hands on their swords- ready to fight any threat to their sire. "Ser Lyn's not feeling so well now, would you be so…kind as to escort him out?"

Obeying their lord's command, the two Winged Knights immediately step forward. Instead of waiting for the men to grab him, however, the heir to Heart's Home gives the Red Falcon one last, furious glare, before turning on his heels and storming out of the room.

"Out of my way, _bastard_." He doesn't spare a glance at Eddard Stark's bastard, roughly pushing the brat out of his way.

'Just you wait, Artys Arryn…' the Corbray knight thinks with an evil smirk. '…I'll have my revenge on you, and then, only then, you'll regret ever refusing me.'

And Lyn Corbray just happens to know the right person to help him in his schemes. Sometimes, the greatest of allies could come from the smallest, most unexpected of places.

* * *

_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: There'll be no yaoi, if that's what you're worried about. **

**So, did you like the chapter? I bet most of you never expected this. Anyways, I'll be working on the Arya pairing gradually from now on. Just you wait to see what Needle will be made of…**

**Listening to: Paper Moon- Soul Eater op. 2**

**Doing: Chilling out on the only free day I have.**

**Status: Inspired AF.**

**Papa's out.**

**Wildfurion.**


	8. The Andals VII: Golden Cloth

**The Andals VII: Golden Cloth, Golden Curls.**

**A/N: Hey there guys, Wildfurion here with another chapter of his fanfic, the Andals. **

**I believe most of you were quite shocked with last chapter's revelations, so I decided to hurry up a bit and give some light on Artys' POV on the whole situation. I'll also be making some revelations on this chapter, so brace yourselves!**

**Oh yeah, I took some liberties and changed history a bit. Basically, added some new members to House Arryn's tree, killed Viserys Plumm and gave Ottokar of Bohemia a new name. But who cares, right? Ben Plumm has like…three lines in the whole series.**

**Hope you keep liking this story, and remember…to drink water. It's important to be hydrated.**

**I'll be answering to your reviews now.**

**-Guest 47: Hey there, man. Yeah, last chapter was meant to shock you a bit- as expected of ASOIAF, I guess. And Lyn's creepy because I wanted to depict him as he is in the books, a cruel, greedy man who's into younger boys. Artys just happened to be one of his victims, and the one he's obsessed with because of his looks and persona. And yes, Lyn-Littlefinger partnership will happen, though Artys won't be rid of him soon. I wanted to add Lyn as a villain who's close to the MC, who's chaotic neutral himself. About Cersei, more of her on this very chapter.**

**-Thunderbird29: Thx, I thought it would add some unexpected material to the series so…yeah. This chapter is a bit longer than usual, hope you enjoy it- though I don't plan to update daily. That's way too tiring for me.**

**Wildfurion**

* * *

_The Andals VII: Golden Cloth, Golden Curls._

_**-{Artys}-**_

_Winterfell, the North, 298 AC._

'Rotten to the core.'

That is what Artys Arryn thinks about Lyn Corbray, as he watches the thin knight storm out of his chambers- glaring at his back.

'I should have him killed.' The dark perspective of murdering the man he despised the most sounded extremely pleasant in Artys' mind. Unfortunately, Lyn seemed to have good connections with the upper nobility of the Vale- as the Corbrays were one of the oldest Andal lines as well- thus, giving his elimination undesirable complications. 'Maybe a Faceless Man would do the job…'

Luckily, the Winged Knights had already returned to their posts by his door- and couldn't see the trembling of his hands. While it wasn't the first time he'd refused the disgusting swordsman- he was still shocked he once loved him- the sheer hatred and disgust he felt for the man was enough to cause a crisis on the sickly Arryn lord.

"I need my remedies…" the auburn-haired Lord of the Eyre whispers to no one in specific, as he rummages through one of the drawers of the large wardrobe his Stark uncle provided him with. "There they are."

Feeling his situation quickly aggravating, Artys is on the verge of collapse- his tremors so intense he spills the wine twice and nearly drops the pot of his black powder- when the mixture is finally ready. He sends it down his throat with a large gulp, feeling the dulling effect of the milk of the poppy quickly settling in his defective nerves.

The 'shaking disease', as it was called by the Maesters, manifested in many different forms. Artys' little brother, Robin, developed a graver form- and thus had his intellectual development compromised. The older Arryn, meanwhile, suffered from a milder form of the disease, which was, however, coupled with other consequences of his premature birth. One of such consequences was the painful feeling that his heart was about to explode inside his chest, which could be treated- to a certain degree- with the black YiTish powder.

He would not admit it openly, but he envied Arya for being as healthy as one could possibly be.

Artys' sapphire eyes- now back to their usual emptiness- then land onto what he considers to be his most cherished possession, well-hidden among his silken garbs.

The Dragon egg was certainly one- if not **the-**of the most beautiful things he's ever seen in his short life. Most of its scaly, petrified surface was of a silver coloring, almost platinum in fact, with only a single stripe of gold. It originally belonged to his great-grandmother, Princess Elaena Targaryen, who married Lord Roland 'the Iron and Gold Falcon' Arryn.

Their wedding took place by the Gates of the Moon, in the year 171 AC and was recorded in the _Chronicles of House Arryn _as the Field of the Cloth of Gold. At the time, it was the old and wise Viserys II who sat on the Iron Throne, and the King saw the Arryns as potential supporters of the Iron Throne. Septon Wolfheard records that while the nobility of the Vale- still embittered by the antics of Prince Daemon, Viserys' father- opposed the match, and branches of House Arryn even denounced Roland for attempting to tarnish the House's Andal purity. Needless to say, all those claims faded almost immediately when they met the exotic and extremely intelligent Elaena.

She was rumored to be the fairest treasure of the Maidenvault. Together with Roland, she'd lead the Andal Arryns into nearly 5 decades of prosperity. Lord Roland served as Master of Coin to Daeron II, Master of War to Aerys I, and fought in three of the Blackfyre rebellions, before his death in 219 AC, by the hands of Aegor 'Bittersteel' Rivers. His shrewd wife passed soon after, and her tomb was one of the most richly decorated in the Eyre.

'That used to be my favorite story…' the young Warden of the East thinks with a faint smile, feeling the warmth irradiating from its core.

"Lord Arryn." One of the Winged Knights walks in, lowering his head in respect. The Brotherhood of Winged Knights was an idea he had when he was only a child, about three years after his father named him the acting lord. The order, now numbering more than 300 members, was the cream of the Vale's cavalry- its members personally chosen by the Lord. "Lord Stark's…_illegitimate _son wants to see you. Should I send him away?"

"Let him in, ser Gareth." Artys replies with a faint smile- any company other than Lyn Corbray would be most appreciated at the moment. Scooping the Dragon egg in his bony arms, the Lord moves back to his stuffed seat.

"Lord Artys." Jon greets with a bow. Slightly younger than Artys himself, Snow had grown into a man since they last met. Much like Arya, the Stark features were very strong in him, and he had a long face, long dark brown- almost black, in fact- hair and grey eyes- though his are of a much darker tone. He was lean and muscular, but slightly shorter than the Arryn. "Forgive me for the intrusion."

"I believe you've come here because of the parchment, yes?"

"Yes, my lord." The boy replies with a nod. Unlike his cousin, Robb, Jon is somber and reserved. He's like Artys, in a certain way, though he lacks the grace. "I wanted to ask some things about it?"

With a nod, the auburn-haired Arryn accepts the unsealed scroll back from Jon. Using his long fingers, he quickly unrolls it to reveal a queer design.

While quite common among the duelists of the Free City of Braavos, rapiers were looked down upon by the Westerosi nobles- who preferred broader, heavier blades to the slender, sharp pointed Braavosi swords. Designed to perform nimble and quick strikes, the sword depicted on the paper has a protective hilt- decorated with wolves and falcons- and has a very light, long sharp blade- about 1 inch thick, but with over 41 inches of length.

"This is a rapier, Jon. Quite common with the Water Dancers of Braavos." Artys calmly states, running his fingers over the design. "I figured it would be ideal for Arya, as she's a girl, and I've only met **one **in all of Westeros who could wield a greatsword with skill."

"I understood that part, my lord." The younger boy replies with a nervous gulp. No matter how…friendly Artys was, he still managed to intimidate Ned Stark's shy bastard. "What I don't understand, though, is the Valyrian steel part…where do I find this? There's only _Ice_ here in Winterfell, and Lord Stark wouldn't possibly let..."

"I know." Standing up from his seat, handing the Dragon egg to Jon- who simply looks at it in awe- the new Lord of the Eyre walks back to his wardrobe, returning few seconds later with a thin blade, the same from the drawings. This one, however, is strange for- unlike common Steel- it shows queer rippled patterns, where the steel has been folded back on itself many thousands of times. "I bought this from an impoverished Pentoshi magister for a good price. Then I hired a Volantene smith to re-forge it into something more suitable for…well, for me."

"But, my lord…"

"Don't mind it, Jon." Artys cuts him short, taking his Dragon egg back from the dumbfounded boy. "I'm not a swordsman, at least not as good as you…" That was an undisputable truth. The Red Falcon wasn't a delusional fool, and knew that- though he was unmatched in his skill with the bow- Jon Snow would have an easy time beating him with a sword in close combat. "Besides, I think Arya'll be putting it to a better use than me."

He didn't tell him about the other sword in his possession, however.

"Very well. I'll be taking it to Mikken, then." Jon finally replies, after minutes of silence, accepting a bag of coins Artys tosses to him- payment for the blacksmith's service, and for the jewels he planned to use in the decoration. The stern boy gives the egg one last look. "It is very warm, by the way. Strange thing you possess, my lord."

Almost instantly, alarms kick in Artys' quick mind. He sets them aside for the moment, however, and accompanies Snow out with a faint smile on his lips. "I'll be off then, Lord Arryn." The boy says with another bow after they reach a crossing, before leaving to the other side- to the castle's courtyard.

'An odd one you are, Jon Snow.' The Lord of the Eyre thinks, eyes lost at Snow's back for some seconds, before he shrugs it off with a sigh.

The walk to Winterfell's ancient godswood is brief, with Artys- as usual- being escorted by four of the Winged Knights all the way. He eventually makes his seat by the Heart tree's thick roots, not caring if the mossy soil makes his clothes dirty. The warm Dragon egg is clutched tight to his chest, and he takes in the feeling with relief.

"Lord Arryn." There she is. Artys opens his sapphire eyes to stare up at the beautiful face of Queen Cersei Lannister, who, as usual, has two Lannister guards by her side. "What a pleasurable coincidence to meet you here."

Though she's at least some good fifteen years older than him, Artys has to admit the King's wife is a strikingly beautiful woman- the 'Sun of the West', as she is called in the courts of Westeros. She wears a long, silky crimson dress and has a luxurious, jeweled tiara resting in between her suave, golden curls. The emeralds embedded in her collar are of the same intense green as her breathtaking eyes.

"My Queen." The Lord of the Vale politely greets with a nod, rising up from his seat to kiss her extended hand. Educated amidst noble knights and beautiful dames, he's a true master of courtesies "The pleasure is all mine."

Having ruled the Vale for the best part of twelve years now, Artys Arryn has a good understanding of the political game- despite his youth and weakness. Therefore, he can take a good guess on the Queen's intentions with him- Cersei intends to have him as an ally, for whatever purposes she had.

He, however, was quite reluctant about the Lannisters in the moment- considering the suspicions around his father's death. Artys danced with the Queen, but never ceded to the point of being seen as an associate. With his uncle's indication for Hand, he has enough friends at the royal court for now, especially with the King seeing him almost as one of his own sons.

"A Dragon egg?" she inquires with a cocked brow, as they walk through the silent woods towards Winterfell's glass gardens. "I never thought the Arryns had one..."

"My grandfather locked it deep within the Treasure Vault; even I only found it after reading about my House's history some…eight years ago."

"I can see you are a man of culture, Lord Arryn." The Queen replies with a smile. Artys could feel the excitement building inside him, but crushed it with his mind. "I like men like you. Intelligent men, who use their talents to attract everything to him like the very sun…"

"That's…good to hear, my Queen." Arryn says, rapidly recovering his usual serenity. Cersei Lannister is a seductress, that is a fact- and even he has some difficulty keeping his demeanor when she flirts with him. One of the causes of this, is that getting too close to the Queen might cause his head to become a decoration for the Red Keep's walls. "Many people compare me with late Prince Rhaegar, though I think it foolish."

"A foolish claim indeed." She states musingly, as they walk into the castle's glass gardens. Heated by Winterfell's hot springs, the greenhouse is warm and moist, and fruit, flowers and vegetables are grown in small crops there. "You are better than Rhaegar, lord Arryn. Rhaegar was a fool, you are not."

Rhaegar Targaryen. Though many considered Artys to be the splitting image of King Aenys, about just as many- including his closest friend, Willas Tyrell, and two Dornish acquaintances of his- insisted to compare him to the man known as the Last Dragon, much to his annoyance. According to those people, Rhaegar was intelligent and reserved- just like him- and had an air of mystery and serenity that simply dragged people to him. Both were gracious, pale, and had a quasi innate talent for the harp…

And that was as far as the similarities went, at least in Artys' eyes. The Red Falcon would've never kidnapped lady Lyanna Stark, no matter how beautiful she was rumored to be, or how intensely he loved her- on the contrary, he'd let the Wolf Maid go, and even attend to Robert Baratheon's wedding to her- securing a powerful, loyal ally, as Baratheons weren't particularly smart. 'The realm comes first.' His father had taught him. 'The wise ruler does not pursue his desires, but what he knows is best for his people.'

Rhaegar did nothing, even as his father- King Aerys II- sunk deeper and deeper into madness and paranoia. Artys would've gotten rid of King Scab as soon as he could, through whatever methods possible. Artys would have fucked Elia Martell with abandon, and hired the best medics to care for her fragile health. Artys would have never let his children be slaughtered at their very home…

"You flatter me, my Queen." The Lord of the Eyre replies with a faint smile.

"I'm telling the truth, Lord Arryn." Cersei then turns to him, her eyes- deep ponds of emerald- staring up at him tentatively. "My offer is still up. It would bring me great joy, if you were a part of the Small Council when Joffrey becomes King."

The Red Falcon needed to hold back the scowl from forming on his face at the mention of the Crown Prince. Sincerely, the Lord of the Eyre couldn't help but see the blonde-haired brat that Robert fathered as the next Aegon 'the Unworthy'. Though Artys was sure the Prince likes his flattery, he knew the cruel and prickly Joffrey could demand his head just as easily.

"I shall consider it, Your Grace." Artys replies with a nod. Though reluctant to side with the Lannisters, the Red Falcon has to remember he's a Tully by blood- and the Tullys, like every middle child, know how to be flexible and diplomatic in their alliances. "Though I still believe my place's at the Eyre."

Not giving Cersei the time to rebuke, the Warden of the East politely kisses her hand before rushing out of the gardens- ignoring her calls and letting out a relieved sigh, once he's out of reach. 'Cersei Lannister will be the death of me, if I don't take care.' His walls of ice nearly collapsed in there. The heat of the garden must have affected him for he…he…desired the Queen, very intensely for some seconds. His body even leaned closer, as if he were going to take her full lips with his own. 'I need to keep control of myself around her; else I'm as much of a fool as father.'

However, just as relief fills him one he's rid of the seductive Queen, another Lannister walks in to him. The lions must feel particularly dragged to him, for Artys now finds himself cornered by the one and only Kingslayer: Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother.

"Ser Jaime."

"Lord Arryn, I've been looking for you!" The Kingsguard greets with a smile that could cut like a knife. Jaime looked every bit like a King should, having the same long, golden curls and emerald eyes of his sister. He is also muscular of build, and much stronger than the frail Artys. "Mind talking for a bit?"

For a few seconds, the Lord of the Eyre simply stared back at the Young Lion with a plain, emotionless face. "Very well."

Ignoring the whispers about 'the Perfect Lord befriending the Kingslayer', Artys follows ser Jaime to the shadows of the tower known as the First Keep. The gargoyles observe them from above, curved and laughing at their mortal stupidity.

"You are a very lucky man, Lord Arryn." The Kingslayer starts, leaning his back against the cold stone of the tower's foundations. "You seem to be the King's favorite, and my sister speaks very highly of you."

"I'm sure she does."

"Indeed, that's why I sought you out." The Red Falcon couldn't hold back the shiver running up his spine, not after seeing the Kingslayer's smile. It was not a friendly smirk, no…it was predatory, like a lion's. "I wanted to talk to the famed Artys Arryn personally, so that I could see all your greatness in person. I must confess I'm disappointed…"

"Oh, but you're not alone in your disappointment, ser Jaime…" Artys replies with a discreet, but sly, smile. His bony hand lands upon the Lannister's shoulder, and he felt as the man tensed up at his touch. "I expected more from the legendary Kingslayer. Yet I see nothing more than a glorified bodyguard. The golden armor suits you well, after all, I'm sure it hasn't seen many battles too."

"Maybe I should take my sword and show you my skills then,_ Lord_ Arryn. I'm sure you would be surprised."

"Maybe I should take my bow, and show you _my _skills, ser Jaime. I'm sure you would be most surprised too." Giving him no time to reply, the Lord of the Eyre turns on his heels to leave. "Now, I believe I have important matters to attend. I wish you a good day, ser Jaime."

It's the second Lannister he turns his back to in a day. First the Queen, and now her twin brother- the Kingslayer. 'I wonder how many more will it be?'

Of one thing he's sure, however, the Falcon has twisted the Lion's tail. And now, he needed to make sure he could bear with the consequences.

* * *

_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: There it is, a longer chapter with some more plot. Sorry, I couldn't add Arya- she deserves a POV of her own, I believe.**

**Next chapter…IDK what to do, to be honest. Maybe it is time for the Welcoming Feast? Give me your suggestions in the comments.**

**So, the Falcon versus the Lion. Who'll win this? Why's Cersei so interested in Artys? How will Artys react to his new discovery about Jon 'fucking' Snow? Give me your guesses, guys. I want to see them!**

**Don't forget to smack that FAV/Follow button. On to 100 readers, I guess. I'll be keeping the chapters about this short, since I've written this in about…2 hours. It's free day, so I went to the Gym, had some ideas, and wrote.**

**Poll: next POV- Arya or Sansa?**

**Listening to: Classical Music- after spending the entire day listening to rap lol.**

**Doing: Still chilling out. Tomorrow will be hardcore studying.**

**Status: Relaxed.**

**Papa's out.**

**Wildfurion.**


	9. The Andals VIII: You know nothing

**The Andals VIII: You know nothing, Jon Snow.**

**A/N: Hey there guys, Wildfurion back with another extra chapter of the Andals. So…yeah, the last two chapters were a bit polemical, to say the least. **

**Since this story's coming up with some nasty surprises, I decided to add some more to the salad because…well, it's me. I'm quite tired today, since my GF came over and I had to clean the house before and stuff…so my note won't be as long as usual. I'll be replying to some of your reviews now.**

**-alec-potter: Happy you liked the story so far, the Andals follows a more realistic line in ASOIAF- much like the books I've been reading recently. And yes, Artys is pretty much handicapped by his disease and frail condition, and that happens because he's product of centuries of Arryn inbreeding. About Jon, there's a bit more of him in this very chapter. Hope you like it. Cersei, on the other hand, comes up in the next. **

**-JimmyHall24: Not as much as I do, lol.**

**-Thunderbird29: I'll be revealing more of him in this very chapter. But yeah, Artys' smart- but he's on the same level as Tyrion, nothing more. IDK if you noticed, but the characters' perspective on him is much different than his own- they see him as some sort of cold, calculating mastermind, while the Vale sees him as the very sun. Artys, on the other hand, knows who he really is- but does little to correct the others' views.**

**-Shrednector15: Thx, and yeah…I made him paired up with Arya because some idiot came complaining my MC was homosexual. The idea on chapter V wasn't that, but some people can't seem to stand some cold, blunt Realism. About the true romance, we'll be seeing more in the future…this story was planned as unpredictable. And Elaena was added because I absolutely LOVE Elaena as a character.**

**Wildfurion**

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"_Oh. You know nothing, Jon Snow."—Ygritte _

_The Andals VIII: You know nothing, Jon Snow._

_**-{Jon}-**_

_Winterfell, the North, 298 AC._

Ever since the meeting at Artys Arryn's chambers, three days before, the young Lord of the Eyre seemed to have taken a queer interest in Jon.

The Bastard of Winterfell wouldn't be lying if he said the auburn-haired man didn't scare him. Though he was very kind to Arya, Jon's precious little sister, Artys' sky blue eyes still were almost completely devoid of emotion- cold, calculating and implacable…

"Jon Snow." He hears a man calling, and turns to see two of the Winged Knights- recognizable by their silver plate armors and long, blue cloaks depicting the Arryn sigil. This one is an old, bull-like Valeman, whose eyes stare at him in disgust. It didn't take long for Jon to decide he did not like the man. "The lord Arryn summons you. Would you mind accompanying us?"

Noticing the curious looks of the servants of the castle, Jon lets out a resigned sigh- taking note to continue with his tasks later- before giving the man a silent nod. The two Knights escort him down the hallways of Winterfell to the Library Tower, where the young Warden of the East waits for him with a book at hand.

"Lord Arryn." He greets with a polite bow, making the slightly older boy rise his glance to meet his eye.

"Jon." Putting the thick tome aside, Artys rises up from his couched seat by the fire and walks towards him. His gold and silver Dragon egg lies on the small round table by his chair, together with a goblet of what seems to be hot, spiced wine. "I'm glad you came."

For some minutes, both boys stay silent. The mysterious Arryn openly stares at him with his long, pale fingers supporting his chin- as if he were studying Jon's facial lines. The younger boy was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable with his situation, before the auburn-haired lord finally speaks up.

"Leave. Make sure no one disturbs us." He orders the guards, who give him respectful nods before turning to leave the library. Only after the sounds of their metallic boots hitting the wooden boards of the floor finally dies, does he speak again. "You're a very handsome man, Jon Snow…"

The shiver that runs up Jon's spine was like nothing he'd felt before. The Lord of the Eyre is **smiling **at him, a sly, playful smile. 'It can't be…' Artys couldn't be this type of man…could he? No, that's impossible- he's never shown any interest on Robb or Theon, at least not that he could see…

"In fact, you're way too handsome. It makes me feel uncomfortable." And then, in the blink of an eye, the older Arryn is back to his usual calm and serene demeanor. No trace of the previous smile left in his red lips. "Tell me, Snow…"

A long index traces circles in the rough, red wood of the table. "Do you know who your mother is?"

"I-I don't know, my lord." The younger boy replies with a nod, doing his best to avoid that implacable gaze. "My father never told me, and…"

"They say it was Ashara Dayne, of Starfall, rumored to be one of the most beautiful women in Westeros." Artys then scoops the Dragon egg into his arm, hugging the beautiful thing tight to his chest before he continues. "People say your father, the honorable Ned Stark, took her as lover during the Rebellion. That they shared a night of passion, during which **you **were conceived…"

"I…I never knew, Lord Arryn…"

"Of course you didn't. Lord Stark would never admit this." In a swift, gracious movement, Artys hands him the scaly egg. Somewhat hesitantly, Jon takes the heavy stone into his arms- almost immediately feeling the warmth it seemed to irradiate from its core. Almost as if the dead Dragon inside was about to hatch. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"Feel what, Lord Arryn?" The black-haired bastard inquires with a cocked brow. Like his father, Ned Stark, Jon wasn't one to enjoy mind games, and he was starting to think the auburn-haired boy was just toying with him.

"The fire…even after hundreds of years, you can still feel the heat emanating from my Dragon egg…" his bony hand cups Jon's chin, lifting the younger boy's gaze to meet his. Artys' eyes are like hollow ponds of dark- almost violet- sapphire, contrasting deep with his pale, milky skin. "I saw your future in my dreams, Jon…you are more than many eyes can see, much, much more…you'll be the third head of the Dragon. _Daoruni gīmī, Ionos Sōnaro, Kivio Dārilaros._"

"I don't understand it, lord Arryn. What did you say?" Third head? Dreams? Dragons? Confused was a euphemism to describe Jon Snow's mind at the moment. What did the older man mean by calling him that? Was that the reason of his sudden interest on him?

"I said…" the lord of the Vale then steps back, snatching the precious egg from Jon's hand and suavely placing it back on the table. With a snap of his fingers, the two Knights that escorted him there walk back in. In the dim light of Winterfell's library, Artys is like the ghost of a Targaryen King of old, a man above all humans, a Dragonlord.

"You know _nothing_, Jon Snow."

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_**Chapter End.**_

**A/N: So…Dragon Dreams? Tadaa, surprise! **

**Don't forget to Follow and review, since those show me you're liking my work so far. That's it for today…I guess. Till next time, Papa's out.**

**Listening to: The Last Night- Skillet.**

**Doing: Lazing around.**

**Status: Sleepy.**

**Wildfurion.**


	10. The Andals IX: Kisses and Whispers

**The Andals IX: Sweet Kisses, Warm Whispers.**

**A/N: Hey there, sup' guys, Wildfurion here with another short chapter. I had this idea while studying about physical exams- more specifically, the gynecology area…so I thought, why not?**

**Many of you complained about the Arya pairing. Don't worry- I'll be giving you a small spoiler- Arya's not Artys' "endgame". Sorry, Arya lovers.**

**I don't have much to say as I'm in the middle of my break here so…yeah. Hardcore. That counts for the rest of the week, as I'll be publishing a longer piece of writing on Saturday- 4/5K words is the ideal. Ned Stark's the next POV, FINALLY. I love Ned Stark. Or maybe I'll do Bran for another short chap, to publish on Thursday.**

**I'll be answering to some of your reviews right now.**

**-JimmyHall24: And he learned that from Ygritte, at least I guess…**

**-alec-potter: Don't worry, Arya's not Artys' endgame. Just a tip: Henry Tudor. Maybe that can help a bit hehe.**

**-cyancrab12: Answered previously.**

**-Guest: Artys knows there's something involved, though it's not all there is. And no, this isn't following the plot- don't worry about that. Artys Arryn was designed as a round, complex character and- therefore- is very flexible. Which side will he choose? Only time can decide that. Maybe he'll ally with the Queen? Maybe with the Baratheons? Or maybe he'll covet the Throne himself? Of one thing he's sure, though, the Vale will support him and- depending on the circumstances- maybe even other Kingdoms too.**

**-Guest 47: He's been sensing that since he met Jon to talk about the sword. Artys is a man who's proud of his lineage, both Arryn and- surprisingly- Targaryen. He'll show even more of this in further chapters, but his bonds with Valyria are very strong for an Andal- as I implied with the Dragon Dream. I played Baelor in CK2 once, and married all three of them lol. Elaena is the one who resembled Artys the most, since she's shy, gracious and clever- there'll be more of her beside the egg. About the dream…I'm DEFINITELY using it in the future.**

**Wildfurion**

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"_Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. and Rhaegar died."- Jorah Mormont._

_The Andals IX: Sweet Kisses, Warm Whispers._

_**-{Cersei}-**_

"You are going to be the end of me, Cersei Lannister."

Their long legs intertwine under the heavy furs and white sheets of the large bed, in Arryn's chambers at the ancient First Keep of Winterfell. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms merely hums back as response, shuffling under the warm covers- which fall a bit as she snoozes, exposing her delightful, full breasts to the chilly air of the North.

"Only if _we _are found out~" she replies with a provocative giggle, leaning down to kiss her new lover's red lips.

Artys Arryn, the new Lord of the Eyre and Warden of the East, is a man that snatches the proud beauty's interest merely by existing. He's mysterious, well-learned, gallant and almost inhumanly handsome- being the splitting image of Prince Rhaegar in her eyes, though auburn-haired and much less muscular. Through the days they'd spent together in Winterfell- though he avoided her most of the time- Cersei also knew him to be very vain and somewhat narcissistic. 'He smells and dresses like a Lysene prostitute, or that's what Jaime says~"

Needless to say, she only needed an opportunity to bring the younger boy to her side. After a night of great drinking with the his godfather, the fat oaf of a King- to commemorate a successful hunt, she presumed- the lord of the Eyre 'accidentally' found his way to her chambers. It was much easier to bring him back the next night.

"My godfather will never find out, I don't fear him. He's an idiot." He rebukes calmly, his voice as low as a whisper, turning his gaze from his book to her. Oh that eyes, that irresistible, deep, dark, hollow ponds of sapphire…in the faint light of the room, they were the color of amethysts. "I fear your brother, Jaime. The father of your children, Cersei…"

"How do you know?" The Lannister inquires, feeling the shiver making its way up her lean back. She could still feel the stickiness where the auburn-haired knight dripped honey, when he took her from behind like a dog with his bitch- forcing her down. Just remembering the feeling of his skilled tongue against her skin made her excited. 'That's impossible. Jaime and I we were always…careful…'

"It wasn't difficult to notice, considering Myrcella is your splitting image, and the others don't have a bit of Robert in them." Artys replies, setting his book aside before rising up to peck her full lips. "I'll be quiet about this, though."

"Why?"

"Why?" He rebukes with a cocked brow, nodding at their current position with a faint, but very nasty smile. "I might be the father of the next Prince or Princess, if I don't take care. Besides, that would bring even more instability than your son's succession."

"And I thought the Arryns were honorable people…" she remarks with a smile of her own, running her slim index in small circles over his shaved chest. "Even I was surprised when the one and only Red Falcon came to my bed the other night…"

"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are." The auburn-haired Andal replies, before unwrapping his arms from her body and rolling off the bed. Cersei's muffled complaint if ignored by the young man, as he walks towards his mirror. "My father revealed his true self, my father acted with honor and honesty and my father is dead."

Jon Arryn. The late Hand of the King was the first one to find out about Jaime and her. She was lucky he died before their secret was told to the King, who'd most likely believe the man's words. Now, though, they had other problems…

"It's a pity our affair won't last for very long…" the Queen says, pushing the sheets down to reveal her whole, slender body to him. Artys eyes her with desire, if his erect manhood wasn't proof enough- though he somehow manages to retain control of his own lust. "After all, you're leaving for the Eyre soon."

"Maybe…" he then walks towards her in long gracious steps, leaning down to kiss the Lannister beauty passionately. After they break apart, with a thin string of saliva in between their mouths, he continues. "…I could postpone my departure for a few months."

With a naughty smile as response, Cersei rolls over him, shifting their positions so that she is now on top. Slow and sensually, she brings herself down on his cock- sheathing him deep inside her wet, aching cunt.

"Yes, just like that~" The Queen lets out a loud, pleased moan when her hips reach the base of his cock. Quick to adapt to the new position, Artys begins to slowly thrust up inside her- his movements being smooth and passionate. "I never want to get out of this bed~"

And for the first time in many years, Cersei truly meant what she said- and with a man that wasn't her brother, nonetheless.

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_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: Aaaaaand another short chapter for you guys, hope this keeps you at bay while I take the week to study. Make your bets about Bran- will he fall or not? And if he does, who throws him out, Artys or Jaime?**

**So…Cersei and Artys now have an affair. How will things work out for those two? Who's the predator and who's the prey? See more on the next chapters, and don't forget to Follow and review.**

**Love you guys. Papa's out.**

**Wildfurion.**


	11. The Andals X: Wolf and Falcon

**The Andals X: The Quiet Wolf and the Red Falcon.**

**A/N: Hey there, guys. Wildfurion here.**

**So…got a free day from College today, thank God for that. I'm studying later but…fuck that, still had time to write Chapter 10. **

**I know, I know, I promised a longer chapter in Ned's first POV… BUT, in the end there wasn't much to write- else I'd have to add some more POVS, and scenes that wouldn't fit in this story's template.**

**Therefore, I'm limiting this chapter's size as well. Hope you like it anyways.**

**I'll be answering to your reviews now.**

**-alec-potter: Cersei's still far from 'tame', believe me. About the game…it'll still go for a long time, and the winner is far from decided. Henry Tudor…isn't Artys, he represents another key character- actually, he'd take two roles- on the War of the Roses, and will be mostly a villain. Everybody knows who Henry Tudor is, Aegon is fake, so that leaves only one alternative…the bannerman idea will be tried soon.**

**-timbarney110: I have some other ideas for Bran. Get ready, another Wild Wolf is on the verge of being born.**

**-UmbrellaOperative: Nope, the egg's another reference. Think it like that- this story mixes two scenarios, War of the Roses and Time of Trouble- so the scenario will be much different than the one you're used to.**

**-JimmyHall24: Artys is yet to become a full blown legend. Juts you wait until the Battle above Storm's End…oh shit, spoilers!**

**-Silver crow: So you're Guest 47 too? That's getting damn confusing, lol. Yes, liked the dream idea a lot- quite similar to Daenerys', in fact. About Cersei…wait and see, wait and see. There's still much to happen. The lesson idea's pretty good.**

**That's it for now, I guess.**

**Wildfurion**

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"_Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born… the gods toss the coin in the air, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land"- Jaehaerys I._

_The Andals X: The Quiet Wolf and the Red Falcon._

_**-{Eddard}-**_

_First Keep, Winterfell, the North, 298 AC_

His nephew was working when the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Eddard Stark walked into his chambers- announced by one of the Winged Knights.

'Just by looking at him, I see Rhaegar…' Ned thought with a grimace. Due to his family's close ties with the fallen Targaryen dynasty- both his grandmother and great-grandmother were Princesses after all- Artys had stunning similarities to the Valyrians, having the same milky, pale skin and eyes of such dark blue they looked violet under the right light. 'Hell, if his hair were white, then he'd be one of them.'

The infamous swordsman of House Corbray, Lyn Corbray, stood silently behind his chair as he worked. In the battle of the Trident, the man had slain a dying Prince Lewin Martell, of the Kingsguard, yet was still granted _Lady Forlorn _for his "bravery".

"Uncle Ned." His auburn-haired nephew greets in his usual serene tone, not even bothering to take the eyes of the document he was reading. "I apologize, but I'm quite busy at the moment. If you could only wait for some minutes…"

Eddard's response was a silent nod, before taking the couched seat facing his mentor's eldest son. Ever since his arrival at Winterfell, his nephew seemed to have made the old, abandoned First Keep his temporary home- ordering the old, cold structure cleaned for him and his men and even buying new furniture at Winter Town.

His chambers were somewhat…extravagant, at least for his Northern sense of propriety. Besides the immensely large bed- covered by fine blankets and furs- the room contained a large wardrobe, a working table made of rough oak wood, a small bookshelf- full of whatever he could snatch from Winterfell's library- and even a bathtub and privy. 'There's also the egg…' his grey eyes then land on the oval-shaped rarity. Even after the Sack of King's Landing, Ned Stark has never seen one of the precious Targaryen relics. This one has small scales that reflect the light like silver, with a single stripe of molten gold flowing up and down its surface. 'Must be Princess Elaena's…'

Despite the constant letters sent to his wife, Catelyn, and the previous visit to Winterfell Ned Stark knows little to nothing about his nephew. He seems to have a close relationship with the heir to the Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton, and his children took a liking to him. Besides that, however, the serene boy remains mostly a mystery.

"How did you get this?" he finally inquires, landing his hand on the Dragon egg- feeling the rough, cold surface of petrified scales. The beast that laid it was surely dead, but the thing would never stop being fascinating in his eyes. "I thought there were few left in the known world…"

"It belonged to my great-grandmother, Elaena. Then it passed to my grandmother, Rhae, after she married my grandfather, Jasper." The blue-eyed Arryn replies, pressing his House's beautiful seal against the blue molten wax of the paper before handing it to Corbray. "Take this to the Rookery. Send it to Gulltown." Ned swore he saw a flint of anger glowing in the man's eyes, when Artys didn't even bother to look at him. "It stayed at the Arsenal, until I found it when I was about Rickon's age. It's belonged to me since then…"

"I see…" Jon Arryn's mother, Princess Rhae Targaryen, was married to his father at a young age. None of her children seemed to have gotten her looks, though her grandson inherited them anyway.

"When I was a child, I wanted to adopt the three-headed Dragon as my sigil, as the Dragons are all dead..." He states, rising his gaze to meet his, after Lyn leaves the room. Artys' eyes are as empty and emotionless as always. "Father got me out of this phase; he said an Arryn would always have the Falcon as his symbol. Besides, it wouldn't do well with the King…"

"Certainly not." Ned replies with a small smile. His friend, Robert, had a well-known hatred for the Targaryens- after all, it was Rhaegar who abducted Ned's precious sister, Lyanna, and caused the greatest was the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen since the Dance. Just remembering her…it brought the saddest memories back to him. "How do you find the North, nephew?"

"Interesting."

"How so?"

"It's very cold here, and the land is poor compared to the South." The quill and ink are set aside, and his long fingers soon find themselves pulling the silver Dragon egg to his lap. "But the hunt's good, besides, my cousins are very pleasing company." A faint smile forms on his lips. "I don't have any true friends at the Vale since Domeric left."

"What do you mean, lord Arryn?" Eddard inquires with a cocked brow. From what he's seen in the fifteen days the royal party has stayed in Winterfell, his nephew was very courteous and graceful- someone as him wouldn't have many difficulties in befriending fellow Southrons. "Aren't you acquainted with the Queen?"

Just thinking about the blonde beauty that is Cersei Lannister sent a shiver up Stark's spine. Few days before, Lysa Arryn- Cat's sister and Artys' mother- had sent a letter, accusing the Lannisters from poisoning her husband, the previous Hand of the King. Now that the King offered him the position, as well as a betrothal between his son- Joffrey- and Ned's Sansa, the newly found closeness between the Queen and Jon's eldest only brought him worry.

"I'm not as loved as many think, uncle Ned. There are still those who call me the _Red Tyrant_, even at the Eyre." His nephew replies, helping himself to a glass of hot, spiced wine. Ned watches as he adds a queer, sticky white liquid- which he identifies as Milk of the Poppy- before mixing it with some black powder and other herbs. "Remedies, for my condition." The unasked question is answered in the blink of an eye. "I'm older than Robb, though it does no good to my health."

The Quiet Wolf of Winterfell couldn't hold the smile from forming on his lips, feeling the warmth with which Artys said his eldest's name. Though it didn't seem, Robb and Artys were quite close- being almost twins, in fact.

"Lord Arryn." In walks one of the Vale's famous Winged Knights, this time, a young man with long hair the color of fresh wheat and playful green eyes. The warrior gives his liege a respectful, deep bow, before handing him a sealed envelope. "From Driftmark, sire."

Driftmark? Wasn't that the island of the wealthy Velaryons?

"Thank you. I'll be reading it later." Noticing his curious gaze, the young Arryn gives him a faint smile. "Political matters, Uncle Ned. Lord Monterys Velaryon and I seem to have mutual interests. He has something I want, and I'm trying to convince him to give it to me."

"You'll have to tell me the details later." The Lord of Winterfell remarked playfully. After a few more minutes of lighthearted chatter, both stand at the doorway of the First Keep. Artys, unexpectedly, places his egg inside his coat- probably why Ned had never seen it before. "Where are you going now?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll play a game of cyvasse with lord Tyrion…or write Domeric and call him here to see me. Both sound interesting…"

In the end, the boy chose neither of the two. Artys Arryn stood silently by his side, observing the scene at the training yard with little interest from their spot at the battlements of Winterfell's inner wall. Ned's son, Bran, sparred with a wooden sword against the chubby Prince Tommen under the watching eye of Rodrik Cassel- dressed in so much padding both looked like stuffed balls of cotton.

"Brandon wins, as expected." The younger lord comments- no trait of emotion in his voice. The Northeners down there cheered when Bran finally managed to knock the Prince down, while the Lannisters groaned. He then turns his gaze back to him."I hope you consider my offer, uncle Ned."

'Gods…I've almost forgotten.' After the hunt three days before, his nephew offered to take his second son, Brandon, as his squire- to train him as a future Knight. Artys argued that, as a second son, Bran deserved a chance to prove himself and- maybe- obtain lands of his own. "I've yet to decide, Artys."

"Arty!" In walks the auburn-haired boy, who promptly buries his head in the older man's stomach in a hug. "Did you see me?"

"I saw you, indeed." Arryn replies with a faint smile, ruffling his cousin's curls affectionately. "Some more training, and you'll be the next Falcon Knight."

"For real?!"

"Yes, for real, Bran." The recently named Warden of the East observes the exchange between Prince Joffrey and Robb with disinterest. After Brandon leaves, he turns back to Ned. "I've changed my mind. I'll be going to King's Landing with you, after my business with Velaryon is done."

"May I ask why, nephew?" The Quiet Wolf of Winterfell inquires with a cocked brow. That was good news- with Artys in King's Landing, he'd have someone who he could trust, and his daughters would have some company besides the troublesome royal family.

"To keep your head on your shoulders, Uncle Ned." Without a hint of emotion is his voice, the cold and composed Lord Arryn graciously turns on his heels to leave. Ned simply stares at his back, wide eyed- too shocked to even articulate an answer. "That's why I'm going to King's Landing."

And, little did he know, but Eddard Stark would be an important piece in the great game to come.

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_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: So…did you like it? Leave your thoughts on the reviews.**

**That's it for today, guys. Papa's tired after cleaning the house.**

**Listening to: Nothing.**

**Doing: Slacking around.**

**Status: Lazy.**


	12. The Andals XI: The Giant of Lannister

**The Andals XI: The Giant of Lannister.**

**A/N: Sup' guys? Wildfurion here, this time bringing a different chapter.**

**I changed my mind about chapter 11, so decided to change the POV to Tyrion. That dream was too…weird. In the end, I deleted it and wrote this new chapter. Hope you enjoy it.**

**-Supremus85: None of the claimants were half-decent, Lancastrians or Yorkists. Besides, it's not Jon that is Henry Tudor hehe…**

**-JimmyHall24: Thx man.**

**-alec-potter: Lol, you read the other version of this chapter. Give me your thoughts on this one now.**

**-Shrednector15: I did it on purpose, lol. That very factor will trigger the fighting to come.**

**-Guest 47: So you play CK2 too? Niiice. And yeah, I used some console to turn Baelor into a Targaryen version of Robert the Younger- ultimate fuckboy of GoT- and marry him to his three sisters AND Naerys (thought she deserved a better husband). And the reason why he keeps Lyn around will be further explored in the next POVs, but is basically because he doesn't trust the man. The **_**Red Tyrant **_**aspect of him will be further explored on chapter XII.**

**That's it for now, on to the reading.**

**Wildfurion.**

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_The Andals XI: The Giant of Lannister._

_**-{Tyrion}-**_

The man ironically known as the "Giant of Lannister" walks into the Great Hall, early in the morning after yet another night of feasting on heavy Northern food and savory drinks.

The lovely effects of Artys Arryn's sweet Volantene Red were quite gone, and only the nasty ones remained; the taste of bile in his mouth, the humiliating impotence of not being able to clarify his thoughts and- of course- the queer feeling of having elephants trampling over his brains.

"Lord Tyrion." The man that was the cause of his hangover calmly greets with a nod. The young Lord of the Eyre has a thick tome of Northern poems and songs is tightly held by his bony fingers, and he doesn't even bother to take his eyes off the pages to look at him. "I didn't expect to see you this early in the morning."

"Neither did I expect to see you eating." The Dwarf replies, taking a bite of the roasted bacon- placed on a plate in between them by one of Winterfell's servants. "_Verses of the Wolfswood_, the most tedious book I've ever read."

Mysterious, bookish, quiet, gracious and reserved. Those were the qualities Tyrion Lannister could notice on the auburn-haired, pale boy that seemed to have snatched both his brother's and sister's attention- though in different lights. Freshly bathed and perfumed even in the cold, early Northern morning, the new Lord of the Vale was dressed in fine purple cotton and expensive white furs. 'Jaime calls him 'the Lysene prostitute', I believe.' The Dwarf had to hold his laughter at the name. His brother had always been a sarcastic bastard. 'Well, he certainly smells like one.'

"Indeed." Arryn finally replies with a faint smile, closing the tome and putting it aside with the usual regal grace he conducted himself with. "Shouldn't you be sleeping? I never saw a man your size drink as much as my godfather."

That was a lot, indeed. If one ever said you drank as much as King Robert Baratheon, you should have an urgent talk to your physician- and probably start searching for a new liver…

"Well, I should…" the blonde dwarf replies with a playful grin. "But after drinking the whole night, I decided to fill my belly with something that's not ale or boar meat."

"Ale and meat is all they eat here, lord Tyrion." The auburn-haired boy then gestures at the food that fills the table they occupy- in a quiet corner of the castle's nearly empty hall. Indeed, besides some jams and bread, most of the food is either bacon, fish or strong, dark Northern ale. Fruits are scarce in the region, it seems. "I'm inclined to believe it's the exact opposite to Highgarden."

"Have you been to Highgarden, Lord Arryn?"

"Quite often, when I was still the acting lord of the Eyre." Is Artys' response, as he sips from a glass of iced water. "Willas Tyrell, the heir to the Reach, is an old friend of mine. By the way, just Artys is enough. You're the heir to Casterly Rock, after all."

"I hope my father never hears you say it." The Lannister replies with a playful grin. Though very reserved, the famously prodigious Warden of the East is a surprisingly pleasant company for the morning. "My brother, Jaime, has told me a lot about you, Artys."

"I'm most certain he has many good things to say about me." Red Falcon replies sardonically, though his demeanor is still as serene as always. Obviously, both knew Jaime said anything but compliments to Artys Arryn's person. "Tell me, Tyrion, is there any game you like?"

"Cyvasse, maybe." Tyrion answers with a cocked brow. The expression seemed to run with the Lannister blood. "May I ask why?"

"Good." Without even bothering to answer, Artys signals for a serving girl to come. "Go to the First Keep and tell the Knights I sent you. There's a small box under my bed, bring it to me, please."

Less than ten minutes later, Artys Arryn gives him a faint- yet cocky- grin as his white _Dragon _captures Tyrion's black _King _piece. The clever prick somehow managed to outsmart him by sacrificing two of his _Elephants _in a mad assault against Tyrion's defenses- only to kill of the Lannister's _Trebuchets and Dragon _when he decided to counterattack.

"I win." The auburn-haired prodigy stated with a glint of playfulness in his usually emotionless eyes.

"You cheated."

"Not by the rules. Besides, cheaters are usually the ones that win the day."

"Indeed." The dwarf replies with a grin. "A rematch?"

"Sure." And so, they go again. This time, the game is disputed fiercely by both men- as they use all their wits and cunning to try and induce the other into making a mistake. This time, Tyrion manages to win the match- going for an assault at Artys' exposed flank, capturing his _Elephants, Knights _and _Dragon _with ease. "Now we're even." The Lannister declares with fake pomp, to which Artys merely replies with a gracious nod. The boy was as calm as the God's Eye, it seemed. "Where did you learn to play so well? I never met someone so good at this game before."

"When I was a child, a friend of mine used to visit me quite often. She taught me to play, and I taught Domeric, Mya and Myranda." Is Arryn's calm response. Today was one of those rare days the frail Lord of the Eyre wasn't fasting- or so Tyrion presumed, as he chewed on a fried fish eagerly. "Lonely pastimes, for a lonely child, I guess."

Before he could elaborate an answer, however, a man he recognized as Lyn Corbray walks in. The infamous thin, brown-haired knight leans in to whisper something at the Arryn lord's ear- before quickly retracting as if he could catch Greyscale. "

"Very well." Artys replies seriously, though his discreet frown doesn't escape Tyrion's perception. Bad news? Or maybe a refused offer? Or…maybe something happened between the two? As he weighted the possibilities, the boy's dark blue eyes landed upon him once more. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut our conversation short, Lord Tyrion. There are matters that demand my immediate attention."

"Very well." The youngest of Tywin Lannister's children replies with a grin- helping himself for some more ale.

"Try not drinking yourself to an early grave, Tyrion Lannister. You're far too intelligent for that." With this last remark, the Lord of the Eyre leaves as elegantly as one could possibly be.

And so begins an unlikely friendship, between the perfect and composed Red Falcon, and the one and only, highly imperfect Giant of Lannister.

May the Seven protect the ones who dare cross the way of those two.

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_**Chapter end.**_

**A/N: Hope you liked it and, as always don't forget to review. Till next chapter~**

**Wildfurion.**

**Listening to: FMA Brotherhood Op 1- by AmaLee.**

**Doing: Studying about some liver diseases. **

**Status: Bored to death.**


	13. The Andals XII: Coins and Crowns

**The Andals XII: Coins and Crowns.**

**A/N: Hey there guys, Wild here with another chapter of the Andals.**

**So…some of you asked about the Vale and how it's being administrated without Artys. I also took the opportunity to insert another key aspect- which few of you might notice- to the story: one of the reasons why Artys is Artys.**

**Next chapter will be of your choice: Arya or Artys POV?**

**Anyway, I'm answering to some of your reviews now.**

**-JimmyHall24: You'll know…soon ^-^.**

**-DARKLORDVADER: That's not how politics work at the Royal Court. Artys can't simply execute Corbray, at least not yet- and he has a role in the plot to come. **

**-** **Guest 47: I created a lore where his madness turned him into a drunken hedonist- and yes, I did marry the four to him in CK2 because…it's CK2 lol. And the fasting was inspired in one of my patients, more explanations of that in the future.**

**Wildfurion**

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_The Andals XII: Coins and Crowns._

_**-{Benedar}-**_

_Gates of the Moon, Vale of Arryn, 298 AC._

When the cat's away the mice will play.

With the fucking _Red Tyrant _at the far, miserable and frozen lands of his Stark relatives, a Council has been established to take over most of the responsibilities of the Paramount of the Vale. And the red-haired lord of Strongsong, Benedar Belmore, could barely hold the impulse to lick his lips at the profits he'd make.

The obese, recently-appointed Controller-General of Finances takes a sip of sweet Lysene white wine from a goblet of sculpted silver. The faint morning light comes into the Council room through the large windows, which gives out a good contrast to the round table's polished marble.

"I've called for this meeting to discuss the construction of the new ships to Lord Arryn's fleet, among other matters..." Starts the old Grand Master of the Vale, Yohn Royce, who has a golden brooch- nicely modeled after the soaring falcon of Arryn- attached to his simple, rough tunic. "A great storm has hit the shores of Gulltown, three of the ships have sunk, while the other two dromonds have been damaged. What do you suggest we do, my lords?"

"I'm sure Gerold Grafton has more than half of the money our Lord sent him in his pockets." The widowed lady of Ironoaks, and apparently the new Anya Waynwood remarkes bitterly. 'The tyrant's whore...' The steward thinks with a discreet glare to the graying woman- who adjusts her green mantle over her legs before continuing. "I say we make him pay for the new ships."

"I suggest we cut his allowances instead." Suggests Gilwood Hunter, lord of Longbow Hall. "Though we'd need Lady Lysa's signature for such…"

Though the nobility still held considerable power at the Vale, the Red Tyrant and his supporters managed to drastically expand the Lord Paramount's authority during the late years of Jon Arryn's rule. No ordinance was passed, nor any tax was collected, without his signature- the ones who rebelled against such blatant despotism? Some months at the Sky Cells might change their minds, as it did to Lord Shett.

"I'm afraid Lady Lysa won't be able to join us." Or in other worlds, she was too busy caring for- more like pampering-the sickly prick that was her second son to even care for her duties. With a brief pause to drink from his iced water, the old Bronze Yohn then continues. "Therefore, I sent a raven to Winterfell. Lord Arryn's response will be arriving in a few days, I'm sure."

'As expected of the leader of the _Reds_.' As the loyal lapdogs of Artys Arryn, the Reds were probably the largest faction in the Vale's complex politics. Rallying behind their seemingly perfect liege lord, those people would do anything to earn their sire's generous favor or approval. "A wise decision, indeed, lord Royce."

As they were about to proceed to other matters- however- the person they least expected in a council meeting walks into the small, fresh chamber: Lysa Arryn- accompanied by her son, Robert, and two handmaids.

"Milords." The woman greets, unusually calm for the day- before taking her son's couched seat, coated with velvet and made comfortable with swan feathers. Her handmaids are quick to bring her a glass of fresh water and a bowl of green grapes- which her youngest boy begins to eat eagerly. "I apologize for my delay. The descent from the Eyre is highly uncomfortable for my son."

The change in the atmosphere is palpable, to say the least.

Belmore was still shocked at the woman Lysa Arryn has become. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the day of Lord Jon's wedding to the girl- at a time when he was still a slender knight and heir: she was very pretty- not a great beauty like her sister, but not undesirable either- delicate, ladylike and- mainly-a cousin of Lord Jon, so the purity of the Arryn line would not be put at risk. And when the twins were born, the old man was happier than ever.

Now, though, the auburn-haired widow is a fat matron, bitter, vain and proud- and the lords only obeyed her, because they didn't want to be thrown into the Moon Door by her emotionless surviving, auburn-haired twin. Appointed as Regent of the Vale, she was even worse- as she had her son's permission to do it now.

"Lady Lysa." Greets Yohn with a nod. "We were discussing the Arryn fleet's situation. Now, the Council waits for Lord Artys' decision…"

"My son has named me the Regent of the Vale." Lysa proudly remarks, glaring at the Lord of Runestone with her light blue eyes. "You should have brought this matter to me."

"We thought it unnecessary to bother Lady Arryn for such trivial business…" Belmore finally replies with the best smile he could muster. Lysa Tully might be unstable, but she has her son's trust and backing- getting on her bad side now wasn't a good idea. "The Council will make sure to summon the Lady to our next meetings, from now on."

"Good." Lysa replies with a snobbish smile- let her think she rules, that is the secret to deal with the Eyre's widow. "Now then, shall we continue? The Vale will not rule itself."

The rest of the meeting goes- surprisingly- quite smoothly. Despite a few interventions by the 'Regent', most of the Council's decisions were approved- including an order to transfer 300 Longbowmen to the Bloody Gate- and the lord of Strongsong soon found himself on the way to his comfortable chambers at the Gates of the Moon.

'At least this castle looks decent now.' Belmore observes with a discreet, sly smile. Where the previous Lord had been content and passive, his successor was active, attentive and diligent. Though larger than the Eyre, the Gates of the Moon were originally designed as a powerful military fortification, rather than a beautiful castle- the stronghold was stout, with a massive gatehouse, square towers and a large central yard.

Under the Red Tyrant, however, the Gates were expanded and improved- to add some comfort to the castle, for when the Eyre became uninhabitable during the years/months of winter. The Gates now had steaming hot baths- fed by the reinstalled plumbing system- enormous, luxurious bedchambers for the Arryns, a larger library and even a small ballroom, with fancy Myrish tapestries and Tyroshi mirrors.

The Controller-General finally reaches his chambers- located far from the main gateway. As he walks in, however, he realizes a serving boy standing by his bed- waiting with a sealed envelope in his hands.

"From Winterfell, sire." Giving him a polite bow, the blonde Arryn page is quick to hand him the sealed piece of yellow paper and rush out of his chambers as if the very devil were behind him.

Cocking his red brows, the obese treasurer breaks open the wax seal and ran his eyes over the letter. "Well, well…" a smirk formed on his pouty, fat lips. The eerie light of the fire casted shadows onto his face, making his expression somewhat sinister. "What some interesting news that is, aren't they…"

A small throwing knife cuts through the warm air of the room, burying itself at a covered painting. The curtain tied to the frame falls to reveal a wisp of bright red hair, and the angelic face of a pale child.

"Artys Arryn?"

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_**Chapter End**_

**A/N: R-E-V-E-L-A-T-I-O-N-S**

**Med School's turning hellish again. Wish me luck.**

**I guess my next update will be of Dragons and Kings, I miss Robert the Younger and his drunken, hedonistic charisma. **

**Anyway, don't forget to give me your thoughts on the reviews. Till next chapter, Papa's out.**

**Listening to: Documentary about Mary Tudor.**

**Doing: Studying about cancer in the Thymus.**

**Status: Chill.**

**Wildfurion**


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